


A Love of Two Outlaws

by Blueeyes777



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Action, Angst, Bisexual, Chapter 1: Colter (Red Dead Redemption 2), Chapter 2: Horseshoe Overlook (Red Dead Redemption 2), Chapter 3: Clemens Point (Red Dead Redemption 2), Comfort, Cowboys & Cowgirls, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Love, Friends to Lovers, Hunters & Hunting, Lesbian, Outlaws, RDR2, Shooting, Slow Burn, Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), Western, Wild West, ongoing, reader - Freeform, wlw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:13:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 44,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24477025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueeyes777/pseuds/Blueeyes777
Summary: Sadie Adler/Female Reader Red Dead Redemption 2 Fanfiction!You are a woman in the Van Der Linde gang, who along your adventures in the Old West, starts to realize your feelings for Mrs.Adler, a tough, zealous widow and new addition to your gang. Through all the robbing and killing, surely loving who you wish would be considered the least of your sins...This story goes along the main course of the Red Dead Redemption 2 story, told from your perspective as an original character(you're not replacing any other character). I will also implement additional scenes as well as they work with the story!I appreciate any reads, and I would even encourage some non-Red Dead fans to read it!I started writing this on 5/27/20 and plan to continue updating it, so stay on the lookout.Thank you, and I hope you enjoy! :)
Relationships: Sadie Adler/Reader
Comments: 47
Kudos: 75





	1. Hell, Frozen Over

You'll never forget the moment you first laid eyes on her. It was a cold, windy night in the state of Ambarino and the gang had just set up camp at an old, abandoned sight in Colter. You heard Lenny's voice calling out to everyone.

"Hey everyone, Dutch is back!" his voice came from outside.

At the call, you quickly threw open the door to your run-down cabin and trudged through the snow to meet Dutch, Micah, and Arthur who had returned from a supply raid. You squinted through the storm to see if they'd brought back any blankets or clothing to help shelter from the cold, but as they rode in, you noticed that they didn't just come back with the usual food and ammo. A woman you had never seen before sat on the back of Dutch's horse, holding a thick, oversized jacket around herself that failed to hide the shivering of her body. You recognized the specific quiver- one of not just the cold, but adrenaline as well.

As your fellow gang mates gathered outside to welcome back the group, you could see the woman's face in the glow of lantern light. She wore a shocked and fearful expression on her sun-damaged face, damp tears still fresh on her freckled cheeks from whatever trauma she had recently experienced. You could also make out a faint scar above her right eye. Despite her distressed appearance, the warm, orange glow lit up her face in a way that seemed almost angelic.

As she hesitantly let Dutch help her off the back of his horse, she looked around at you and the others with mad yet grief-stricken eyes. When standing securely on the ground, she continued to look about wildly; she looked left, right, and behind her as if anticipating an assault from any angle at any moment. For a fleeting instant, her frantic movements paused as her eyes landed on yours, softening ever so slightly before quickly returning to their frenzied state. When her eyes pulled away, you noticed how your breathing had hitched and a warm feeling had crept it's way up to your cheeks, distracting you from the cold for a second or two.

Dutch continued to speak but you didn't pay attention to the words he was saying. All you could focus on was the struggling creature who had been placed before you, as if Dutch had brought home a stray dog that hadn't eaten in weeks. When you thought Dutch was about to speak your name, your mind snapped back into place and was re-immersed with the rest of the world around you. Instead, he said two other names.

"Miss Tilly, Miss Karen, would you warm her up, get her a drink of somethin'?" Dutch had said. Further taking in the sight of the disheveled woman, you wanted badly to help her feel less, well, disheveled. Despite your longing, her anxious demeanor told you to stay back, to let the two women that Dutch had called take care of her, as you didn't want to overwhelm her with new faces. 

"And Mrs.Adler," Dutch said, "It's going to be okay. You're safe now." 

Adler, you thought to yourself. Mrs.Adler, married. Could that have something to do with it?

You and the other ladies lumbered back through the thick snow and entered your new cabin with shivering Mrs.Adler guided by the arm of Miss Tilly and Miss Karen. You entered behind them and closed the door to block out the howling winds outside. You made your way to the opposite side of the room and found a place on the floor to lay out a bedroll. With that, you laid down, turned away from the others, and tried to fall asleep.

It took a while to finally drift into unconsciousness. The woman's cries rang throughout the cabin; "My husband... they killed my husband..." she sobbed in a rough, shaky voice. I guess that's the answer, you thought. You eventually fell asleep, but all the while the haunted aura of your new roommate lingered in your mind.

******

You woke up the next morning to bright sunlight piercing through your eyelids, as well as the usual yapping of Ms.Grimshaw. 

"I swear, if you were given the normal tasks of the other women, you can bet you'd already have washed 20 outfits before the sun was even half as high," she nagged, forcing you to role onto your back and finally open your eyes to see the old woman frowning down at you.

"Well, good morning to you, too," you retorted.

"You're lucky you ain't one of mine. I'd be makin' sure you wake up extra early on account of your tongue," she snapped back.

"Well, lucky me, I can't hunt at night- can't shoot what I can't see," you said with a small smirk, earning you a disgruntled eye roll as Grimshaw left to go find another target.

You did have to agree, though, that the bright rays of light shining through the window were a good indication that you should start to go about your day. You also noticed through the glass that the windy snowing of last night's storm had ceased. Wait, you thought, the night before....Mrs.Adler!  
  
The comfort of sleep had lulled the thought of the widow from your mind, but as you stood to get dressed, everything came rushing back- her anguished eyes, her rough skin, her unkempt hair. 

You looked towards the left side of the cabin, and sure enough, there she was. At least one of the three aspects that you remembered of her grave appearance had left. It seemed as if one of the other ladies had lent her some clothes and helped tidy her up a bit. She wore a plain, striped dress and her hair fell more neatly over her shoulders. Without the covering of the oversized jacket, you were able to see the woman's muscular build. Her arms were more filled out than most of the other women and she had a sturdy figure. Maybe she won't be just like the other women, you thought to yourself.

Despite her build and new clothes, Mrs.Adler looked in possibly even worse shape than the previous night. The adrenaline coursing through her veins must have ran its course as now the formerly hectic widow sat by herself on the other end of the cabin, sipping coffee with a blank and hollow stare. She looked to be more of a shell than a person, having been drained of all energy and anxiety to instead be replaced by nothing but numbness.

You and her were the only ones left in the room, the other ladies busy with all of the demands given to them by Ms.Grimshaw. You felt an odd sense of awkwardness between the two of you- odd in the sense that there was no way in Hell that Mrs.Adler cared about the silence in the space. Hell, she might not have even noticed that you had gotten up. 

Wanting to shake your own sense of unease, coupled with the same sympathetic feelings of when you first met her, you slowly walked over to Mrs.Adler. Slowly, as if not to alert her with any quick movements, like a dear or a rabbit. As you got close and sat down in the chair next to her, Mrs.Adler didn't say anything. She didn't even move her head to face you. All the greeting you got was a quick sideways glance of her eyes before returning to her unfixated state of staring at where the floor and the wall meet. 

"Hello, Mrs.Adler," you say to her softly. She gives you a small, almost unnoticeable hum in response. Good enough, you thought. "I know many of the other ladies have been taking care of you last night and this morning, but I want you to know that it's not just them who want to help you. I want to help you, too."

The widow shifted her unfocused gaze slightly towards your direction, still not meeting your eye.

"I've been told I'm a good listener. If you ever need anything, or just need somebody to listen, I'll try to be there whenever I can," you said. This time you earned a nod.

"The only times I can't really do much is when I'm out hunting or looking for herbs, but whenever I'm at camp, I promise you can count on me as a friendly face." With this, Mrs.Adler looked up to meet your eyes for the first time that conversation, and the second time in the past twelve hours. You hadn't noticed it before in the dark night, but her eyes were a beautiful shade of dark brown, like a grizzly's pelt. The dark circles under her eyes were outshined by her long, black eyelashes, perfectly framing the whites of her eyes in a thin almond-shape. "Thank you..." she said quietly in her gravely voice. Your mind could have been playing tricks, but you could have sworn that you noticed a flash of light in her face, a sign of some emotion other than grief.

She looked as if she was considering saying more, but the idea was broken off when Mary-Beth came through the door.

"Oh, I hope I'm not interrupting anything. I just came to give you a refill on your coffee there," she said. Mrs.Adler gave her the same, small hum that she had given you minutes ago, returning to her trance of staring blankly out in front of herself.

Mary-Beth poured a very small amount of coffee into the mug. You had noticed her sipping her mug the whole time, but didn't realize that hardly any of it was being drank. The depressed widow had been sipping for the sake of sipping, taking in very little of her drink. You looked over the widow to the tattered nightstand on her left and saw an almost untouched plate of eggs and venison as well.

With the silence that had refilled the room, you looked down at your pocket watch. 8:47, it read. Shit, I actually need to start the day or else Grimshaw might be right about me, you thought. You turned back to the other women.

"Well, I think I'd best be off...Mary-Beth... Mrs.Adler," you nodded to them each while leaving though the door and going to look for a horse to borrow.

******

Your interpretation of Mrs.Adler as an empty shell couldn't have been further from the truth. A better description would have been an old damn, slowly raising the level of the river until it finally broke, all the water rushing through with great force.

Over the course of the weeks following the gang's arrival at the Ambarino camp, the sight and sound of a weeping Mrs.Adler became a common sight. The shock of her husband's death had ran out, leaving the poor widow stuck in her harsh new reality with the only way to release her anguish being through tears.

You and the other ladies took turns comforting her, often bringing her food that she barely touched.  
When it was your turn, you found that very little success came from small actions like bringing her a blanket or coffee, or rubbing your hand comfortingly over her back. The only time when the tears seemed to trickle a little slower was when you told her your stories. The other women had tried this, telling her about the details of their day, trying to distract Mrs.Adler from her grief. Unfortunately, it never worked. Your stories seemed to be the exception. You told her about your adventures out hunting- how you had once manage to fend off a whole pack of wolves, how you had tracked down a huge buck that fed the camp for days, how a coyote had stolen your bag when out collecting herbs. The last story had brought a small smile to her lips, another flashing sign of hope.

******

You, Arthur, and Charles went out on a brief hunting trip one day to bring back food for the camp as the supply was getting low. You cinched up your winter boots and hopped onto Hosea's horse that you were borrowing. You always liked borrowing his horse- it was usually much calmer with an unfamiliar rider than the others. 

Around a plain, loose-fitting dress you wore the thick, dark green hunting cloak that had been passed down to you all the way from your Grandmother. Its heavy fabric flapped around your shoulders as your steed picked up speed. 

"I do not know how the hell you hunt in that getup," Arthur said to you while riding to the hunting spot. "I mean, why don't you just get some men's clothes at this point?"

"First off, Arthur, I gotta find at least some way to keep my family with me, and second, if Grimshaw ever saw me wearing pants, I'd never here the end of it," you snorted, picturing the woman's face ripe with repulse at the thought. 

"Alright, alright, gotcha. Speaking of the other women, though, how's that widow doin'? What was her name again? Mrs...Mrs..," Arthur trailer off in question.

"Adler. Mrs.Adler," you told him.

"Yeah, her. I'm not sure she'll be eatin' much, no matter how much we come back with," he said. Oh, she already isn't eating much of anything, you thought to yourself. Now that you were thinking about it, the depressed woman had lost much of the strong form that she had shown up with, now much thinner and more tired looking. She'd mostly just been living off of the salt of her own tears. 

"She's got a wild look in her eye," remarked Charles. 

"You would too. She lost her husband, her home, everything she had," said Arthur. Wow, her home too? I guess that explains why she's running with us now. 

"What exactly happened that night when you found her?" you asked, a question that had been plaguing you, but knew it'd be too rude to ask Mrs.Adler directly.

"Well, there was this cabin on a ranch we found up north. We went to go rob the folks living there but instead found those damn O'Driscolls had beat us to it. They apparently had murdered the husband at some point, too. We fended 'em off and that's when the poor girl came up from the cellar where she was hidin' to find Micah looting her house. She went mad, she did, waving a knife around at Micah. Had Dutch not calmed down the situation, she very well mighta. Kind of wish she did," chuckled Arthur. "Anyways, that bastard set a fire to the place. Couldn't of just left her there in the snow with her house burnin' down- it'd be as good a' killin' her. So, here she is with us.

"Wow," Charles said, who had clearly been hoping for a less tragic answer, "those O'Driscolls sure are a mean bunch."

"They sure are," you said quietly.

******

A couple weeks continued to pass and the whole gang grew more and more restless about wanting to leave to better weather. Some of the boys recently had a very successful train robbery, putting the gang's shares at a good place for moving on to a new home. You were eager to get on the road again, just like everybody else. To be honest, you'd kind of been missing society, despite the excitement of the outlaw lifestyle. Well, it wasn't very exciting as of now. There wasn't much to do other than hunt, and despite your comments to Arthur about the appeal of your garments, the clothes you were wearing didn't do much to protect you from the freezing weather. There was also drawing, but there still wasn't much to draw other than endless, evergreen-studded hills of snow. 

A third activity was, of course, telling you stories to Mrs.Adler. She always seemed to enjoy the stories of your travels, which had gotten much more personal as you were forced to search deeper for more tales to tell. You tried to steer away from the more tragic tales, not wanting to add to the woman's glum state. She had become much more emotionally stable, though, at least on the outside. She still cried plenty, but at least she was talking quite a bit more.

"No, thank you, I ain't hungry."

"Would you mind tellin' another one?"

"I'm gonna go get me some fresh air."

On some sunnier days you'd seen her out on short walks or even helping out with some chores. Though nowhere near secure, Mrs.Adler was definitely showing signs of improvement. That's all we can really ask for.

On one clear, bright morning, you awoke to find that the day you'd been waiting for had finally come. The wagons were being loaded up with everything that could be carried and the ladies were climbing into a wagon together. Wanting to help speed up the process, you helped load some of the supplies, and within a half hour, the Van Der Linde gang had set off, yet again, in search of a new place to live.

*End of Part 1*


	2. I Got a Girl in Valentine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After leaving your camp in Colter, you and the gang settle into life at Horseshoe Overlook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter focuses less on the reader’s relationship with Sadie, but is still worth the read. I wanted to find a way to work the reader into more action in the future, and I liked what I came up with. I promise in the next chapter that there will be more Sadie scenes. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

"Are we all ready to head out?" The air in and around the wagon was filled with whoops and hollers of excitement as you and the other ladies celebrated. You were finally getting out of that frozen wasteland. Sure, it was pretty, but a change of scenery was becoming more and more appealing as the frigid temperatures kept eating at you day after day.

Soon, the gang was off. The wagon shook with the uneven road as the wheels worked their way over the icy path. The wood creaked all around you with each motion, muffling out the steady sound of horse trot. 

As time passed, you and the other ladies settled in for the journey. You sat in mostly silence with small, quiet conversations here and there. Eventually, the question you all were wondering was finally addressed. 

"Hey, does anyone know where the we're actually goin'?" wondered Miss Tilly. The other ladies looked around at each other for somebody to give an answer, all realizing that nobody really knew. 

"I heard Hosea talking about some place called 'Horseshoe Overlook' when I was helping out with the luggage," you piped up. "He said it was over by Valentine; maybe we're going there." Besides the name, you didn't really know anything about the place. It sounded nice at least, like a quiet little hill looking over a ranch or a farm. 

"Did you just say... 'Valentine?'" asked Miss Karen, a mischievous grin crawling across her face. "Ladies, are you thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" Tilly and Mary-Beth looked at each other quickly with the same, excited smiles, clearly knowing something you didn't. Karen's rowdy voice cut through the anticipatory hush.

"I got a girl in Berryville!"

"-can't be screwed 'cause she's too damn ill!" The other two had joined in. "So I don't go down there no more. There's a blue horse lays outside her door!" 

The singing grew louder and louder until it completely blocked out the sounds of the wooden wheels struggling against the terrain. Abigail had even taken a break from tending to John to come join in. 

"I've got a girl in Valentine, likes to drink that fancy wine! Plumes in her hat was two feet tall, the crack in her pants paid for it all!"

You almost didn't recognize the cheery faces around you, lost in the thrill of music. It'd been so long since everyone seemed this joyful. When listening closely, you could hear each woman's individual voice- Karen's boisterous, seemingly-drunken singing, Tilly's smoother, more free-flowing sound, Mary-Beth's higher, staccato melody, and Abigail's softer, more mature-sounding croon. Miss Grimshaw was even grumbling the lyrics to herself under her breath, but did seem to be enjoying herself. 

As for you, humming the tune was more of your speed. You were somewhat self-conscious about your singing ability, but the catchy tune made it impossible not to tap your foot along. 

You were starting to notice that your hearing felt uneven, that your right ear didn't seem to be working as well as the left. You looked over to your right to find Mrs.Adler sitting with her lips fastened, not murmuring a peep. You leaned over to her.

"Not much of a singer?" you asked in a whisper, trying not to draw the other's attention to the widow's silence.

She awkwardly raised her shoulders and looked down to her side. "No, not really."

"Me neither," you said with a reassuring smile. At this, the ends of Mrs.Adler's lips curled up slightly, her shoulders falling back to a relaxed state. 

As you began to lean away to rejoin the others, the widow stopped you by placing her hand lightly on the side of your arm. The skin of her hand was rough and calloused, yet her touch was gentle. 

"I do enjoy making music, though," she said with a reminiscent whisper and a grin that reached her eyes. "I had always liked playing the harmonica. My Jakey and I always played 'em together...." she trailed off, the smile falling from her face. She pulled back her hand and stored it in her underarm, shrinking back into the wall. Silence fell over her again, and remained control over her for the rest of the ride.

******

It took a while to unpack upon arriving at Horseshoe Overlook. Dutch had set up his tent in the middle of camp, showing off the many luxuries that came along with being the leader of the Van der Linde gang; it had far more space than anyone else's, the cots were well quilted, and there was an old yet shiny phonograph sitting on display. It even had its own flooring and bookcases. The rest of the tents sat subordinate in comparison, dispersed around the center.

As for the location itself, Horseshoe Overlook wasn't bad. It was actually quite pleasant. Looking over the steep cliff on one side of the encampment yielded an excellent view of the golden Heartlands. Not the ranch or farm you'd expected, but instead much better. The trees that surrounded the rest of camp made for excellent protection from the prying eye of the wandering traveler or Pinkerton. 

The best part of camp was the weather. Even in the evening, the sun still cast its soft, warm hands over you and the others. Air here felt good as it entered your lungs, fully expanding them without feeling as if a frozen knife had somehow found its way through your rib cage.

Everyone was exhausted after the long journey, some even sick to their stomachs from the bumpy ride. It was easy to read the body language of your gang mates, their hunched and tired physiques communicating effortlessly that each just wanted the end of the day to arrive. You couldn't help but agree, so when everything was finally unpacked and set up, you headed off to your own tent and laid down. Sleep came to you swiftly, your exhaustion putting you to rest within minutes.

******

The next morning, camp was abuzz as if each person had lived there their whole lives. The gang was moving every which way, each somehow knowing exactly what to do and where to go to get it done. Pearson was toiling away chopping whatever food was left to make the morning stew. The ladies were cleaning the dust-coated shirts from the recent journey, working tirelessly away at the stains so ingrained within the linen fibers. A couple of the boys were standing guard on the outskirts of camp, watching for any unwelcome visitors. 

Across camp, you saw Arthur consulting with Uncle- not a normal thing for him to do. Willingly, that is. Arthur's sarcastic pat on the old man's shoulder as they talked, followed by Uncle's displeased saunter over to the horses told you all you needed to know about their conversation- they were going robbing. 

When Uncle had hitched up the wagon, Karen, Mary-Beth, and Tilly convinced the two men to let them come along. When Arthur gave them the okay, they all climbed into the wagon, giggling with enthusiasm to finally be around civilization again. Sounds fun, good for them, you thought. You thought of the other ladies as your friends, yet there had always been a feeling nipping at you that said you were an outsider. Perhaps it was your different everyday-roles, but that didn't seem to be quite right.

As you walked over to pick out a horse for the day, Arthur turned away from the others to light another cigarette when he saw you. You were about to climb on to Hosea's horse when you heard his voice from behind.

"Hey, how'd you like to take a break from huntin' and come have a little fun with us?" he asked. "It wouldn't kill ya to change it up a bit."

You turned around to face him, biting your lip in thought. "Hmm... I don't know, Arthur. Food supply is low after all the traveling- Pearson needs some more meat to feed everyone. Besides, you know I'm a rotten thief, anyways," you said, rubbing the back of your neck.

"Ah, nonsense, you're fine. And Pearson can wait- we already got some of us out huntin' right now, but if you don't wanna..."

"Oh, come on, it'll be fun! We'll help ya if you need it!" called Karen, clearly itching to get you into the wagon as soon as possible so that you could finally leave. You could tell that she knew you weren't going to give up a chance to be around other people again.

"Oh, alright," you said, trying to create a reluctant tone but failing to erase the eager smile from your face.

You climbed in next to Mary-Beth, and with a snap of the reins, you were off to Valentine.

******

Valentine was just the type of town you'd hoped for. It was small and compact with any type of establishment you could want to throw your money at- a general store, stable, and saloon to name a few. The stores lined a dirt path going down Main Street, teaming with lively people going about their day on horseback and foot. Neighbors called to each other from store porches, happily greeting or playfully antagonizing. The town was flanked with mutton farms to the south and a quaint churchyard in the hills to the north, composing the type of town you wish you'd grown up in. Despite the charming atmosphere, Valentine was filled to the brim with tough-looking lone men, drunk bastards, working girls, and shady thieves. You'd all blend in well here. It was perfect.

Arthur parked the wagon in front of the stable and you all clambered out. The nice shoes you were wearing sank into the shallow mud. The one time I have a reason to wear nice shoes and they get dirty. Just my luck.

Karen seemed to be enjoying the leading role she had taken. "We'll start at the saloon," she declared, waving off Arthur and Uncle while guiding you and the other ladies to the town hub. The doors of the bar were constantly flying in and out; sober men quickly entering while drunkards were exiting significantly slower.

"Come on ladies, imagine we're in Paris," said Karen.

"I imagine Paris and Valentine are easily confused," said Tilly sarcastically, chuckling. The smoke stacks coming from the buildings' chimneys were the closest thing in town to any Eiffel Tower.

"Oh, shut it. Just go find some leads, money, or better yet, both!" Karen said in a hushed voice as your group entered the bar. 

The men lazing in the saloon didn't appear like the type to see sin as a stranger, meaning your task would be that much easier. Even the piano player couldn't help but steal a glance that lingered a second too long. As the other ladies found targets around the lower level, you made your way up the staircase to try to find a victim away from the main action around the bar. 

You walked slowly around the upper level, trying to make eye contact with any man who looked particularly desperate for the services of a woman. Many of your "potential clients" instead stared a good distance below your eyes, quickly turning away when they'd seen you noticed. Damn it, why won't they just take the bait already? Maybe I'm worse at this than I thought. 

The experience was becoming more painful and tedious by the minute. It already felt filthy to make eyes at these scoundrels, but imagining letting one of them actually have their way with you? The thought made you queasy.

Just as you were about to complete your lap around the floor, a middle-aged blonde man staggering up the stairs met your eye and held the gaze. His build was lean and he wore a long, tattered jacket that went down almost to his knees. His hair was greasy and uncombed, matching his short beard. His eyes had a slight droop to them like a bloodhound. The eye contact felt more than uneasy for you, but for him it seemed like the best thing that could have happened that day.

"Well, how 'bout that?" he said, a chilling grin forming on his sallow face, exposing a mouthful of awry, yellow teeth. "I didn't know I'd find myself such a beauty here today!" His voice was deep and sluggardly, setting off further alarms in your mind that were telling you to get this done as soon as possible. Against every instinct, you approached the man. 

"Is that so?" you said, trying to keep the nervous shake out of your voice. "And what would you like to do, now that you've found a lady of my... caliber?"

"Oh, I got me some ideas," he said. Disgusting.

The man took a step closer. Looking for a reason to increase the distance between the two of you, you said, "Well, there is an empty room back here. Maybe there you can show me what you have in mind?" You turned and entered the private room as quickly as you could, though you could have walked at any pace you pleased- the man's movements were laggard, weighed down by the alcohol in his veins.

All that was in the room was a single bed, a nightstand, and an old painting. When the man entered, the dim lighting made his facial features all the more defined and menacing. He slammed the door behind him with force, making you cringe at the deafening sound. As the drunk closed the space between you with a hungry look in his eye, you started to panic. Oh shit, what's the plan? Why didn't I think of a plan? Damnit, I should have thought this through! 

Before you could do anything to stop him, the man had you by the hips and was forcing you backwards towards the bed. Thinking quickly, you grudgingly grabbed onto him, putting your head to his shoulder as you clung onto his jacket. He smelled deeply of whiskey and burnt tobacco. You lowered your hands to his pockets, rummaging through them for anything you could find but only coming up with an empty cigarette pack. Thankfully, he didn't seem to notice as he was too busy fussing with the end of your dress. His coordination was inhibited by his intoxication, failing repeatedly to make a secure grab onto the fabric.

You eventually felt the material of your dress rising, quickly looking down to see the man had found the hem and was now lifting eagerly. You swiftly broke away, pausing. The two of you were both breathing hard now, but for very, very different reasons. Re-stabilizing yourself, you went back in to remove the ragged jacket. It fell to the floor to reveal a weapons belt, including a leather sack that you could bet contained the man's money. Also present were a pair of golden revolvers in the man's holsters on either hip. Those don't look cheap, you thought.

You grabbed the money sack off the belt, an easy feat considering that the scumbag's vision was likely swirling all over the room. Here came the issue, though- how were you going to get out of there?

The man didn't give you much time to think. He let out an animalistic growl before shoving you onto the bed and trying to crawl on top. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

"Wait wait wait, I, uh, cost a good dollar! Probably more than you can afford! Um.... two hundred dollars!" you cried out quickly, throwing out the first absurdly high number to come to your head. Maybe if he knew the price, he'd back down.

The regret came almost instantly. Instead of looking down with mad desire, the gross creature that now straddled you began to fume with rage. His hands grabbed tightly around your wrists, squeezing hard enough for you to feel the circulation cutting off. You were stuck.

"You fucking bitch!" he boomed, spitting in your face. "I ain't payin' for nothin'! I'm here for one thing and one thing only, and I'm gonna get it!"

You tried to twist and kick to get away but nothing was working- he had you pinned. Seeing this, the beast began to lower his face to yours. With all other options exhausted, you braced yourself for pain. With a mighty thrust, you struck your forehead as hard as you could against his.

"Fuck!" He cried, releasing your wrists to cradle his own head in his hands. While you were both still dizzy from the collision, you took the opportunity to push him off of you to the floor. With the man now off, you pull yourself up, causing a wave of throbbing pain to rush through your skull. Your vision felt cloudy and thoughts felt like too much energy to form. A metallic smell brought your hand to your upper lip, coming back covered in blood.

Your mind only came back into focus at the sound of a ticking noise you knew all too well. Slowly turning to your left side, you found the sweaty, vile, depraved man pointing one of the golden revolvers directly at you, his hand unsteady. His finger was resting on the trigger, able to slip at any moment. The end of the weapon was mere inches from your face.

You raised your hands slowly and carefully, like when dealing with an animal on a hunt. The difference was that this time, unlike with poor Mrs.Adler, the animal was more akin to a wolf or grizzly, able to snap and take your life.

The sweat that had been beading on your forehead was now dripping down the front of your face, mixing with the blood to give off the taste of salted iron. You could almost feel your neurons firing for an idea, resisting the fight or flight instincts to try to find a rational thought. Once again, seeing no other escape, you took a gamble.

In the blink of an eye, you threw your hands to the gun and aimed a palm at either side of it. You pushed, freeing the revolver from his clammy hands. The gun flipped around and was now in your possession. Holy shit, it worked!

A normal bastard would have seen that he'd lost and given up, but a bastard full of liquid courage was different. He lunged, tackling you to the ground with himself on top. Your head slammed against the wooden floor, sending another swell of blurring agony.

Before realizing what you'd done, the sound of two gunshots were bouncing around your eardrums. The man was now limp, his full weight laying over you, unmoving. You threw his lifeless body off of yours and scrambled away, leaning against the wall to catch your breath. The golden revolver was still clutched tightly in your grasp, its golden color now complemented by streaks of blood. There were two holes in the man's back that cut through his shirt, of which the material was now turning a deep, violent shade of red. 

I killed him. I just... killed somebody. You'd killed countless animals before, observed your fair share of shoot-outs, so why did this feel so drastically different? You realized that you didn't even feel particularly bad about it- he'd deserved it... right? 

Sitting alone on the floor of the Valentine saloon's private room, you felt your heart racing at a pace that felt too fast. Your skull was aching on all sides and blood was rushing freely from your nostrils. Understanding your emotions, or any of the events that had just occurred for that mattered, was too much of a strenuous task.

The ringing in your ears was interrupted by the sound of hurrying foot steps that seemed to be getting louder and louder. A fresh feeling of panic rose in you and the door flew open. It was Arthur, followed by the other ladies. You let go of your breath and felt your heart rate fall once more.

"Jesus! What in the Hell happened in here?" said Arthur as he came to help you up. The other women's eyes were wide as they scanned the scene- a messed up bed, dead body, and your blood-stained beaten-up self.

"I... he... tried to... I shot him," you managed between breaths. "I shot him." The words felt uncanny rolling off your tongue. 

"Yeah, I heard. I think the whole building heard. You're lucky we was here- I told the bar tender I'd check the noises. The coward didn't seem too keen to check on it himself," Arthur said, closing the door to shut out any possible onlookers. "Well, I'm just glad you're okay. By the looks of it, we ran into a similar situation with Karen."

"Oh yeah," she was exclaimed. You noticed her lil was puffy and there were bruises around her eye, but other than that she seemed relatively unshaken. “Arthur had to come in and beat the weasel! We at least got some decent cash for it."

At the mention of cash, you realized you hadn't yet checked the amount of money you'd made. It better have been a good amount to be worth this mess. 

Arthur seemed to be wondering the same question, looking around the space for coins or bills. With a shaky hand, you pointed over to the bed. He picked up the brown bag and shook it. There was no sound of coins jingling but a thick wad of something was bouncing around in the sack. Arthur took it out and couldn't help but grin as he counted the bills.

"Looks like that's a good forty-seven dollars right there! Nice work!" Figures. Of course that idiot would just be carrying around what was probably his life savings.

Arthur then shoed the others away and turned back to you. "That looks like it could be worth a good buck," he said, gesturing at the revolver still held in your hand. Looking closer, you saw small engravings in the golden plating. "I'm sure Dutch would be real happy if you donated that to the gang's shares."

You knew he was right, but strangely, you didn't want him to be. In spite of the bad memories that you'd always associate with the weapon, you couldn't help but want to keep it for yourself. You'd never owned a hand gun before- a gun for dueling and action. It was different, somewhat exciting, but if it would help the gang then-

"Luckily I won't tell Dutch how you got 'em," he said, giving you a reassuring smile and a soft pat on the back. "Now come on, let's get you home."

*** End of Chapter 2 ***


	3. New Pursuits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After your run-in at Valentine, Sadie helps you out during your recovery time. When fully recovered, Arthur decides it’s time to take you out to do some real outlaw work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this chapter is VERY long. Almost double that of chapter 2. The reason I did this was to have a good mixture of Sadie and action, as well as doing things now to set up the narrative later on. If you need to bookmark it, do that. Sorry this took a lot longer to come out! I am for sure continuing the story because I love writing this so continue to keep an eye out for when updates happen! Thanks again for all your support, everyone!

Your sweat had dried and your breathing evened by the time you made it back to camp, but the events that had just unfolded didn't seem to end. The whole scene kept replaying in your mind's eye- him pinning you to the bed, you head butting him as hard as you could, him pointing the gun mere inches from your face, and you throwing off the lifeless body that had fallen slack on top of you. The concussion, that you definitely now had, caused some parts of the memory to be blurred out. This seemed like it would be a good thing, but instead left the parts of the incident messily fused together. It was all a confusing clutter with your brain filling in parts it forgot in the most sinister ways it could. It was hard to tell what was the truth and what wasn't.

The camp spun with the first step you took as Tilly and Mary-Beth helped you off the back of the cart. It's amazing how something as simple as going from sitting down to standing up can make it seem like you were hit by a horse. It felt like your skull was squeezing in around your brain. The ladies had to guide you back to your tent to keep you from falling over.

"Can somebody come get her some water?" called Karen to anyone who may be inclined to comply.

The women helped you down to your bedroll gently, trying to keep you from crashing down and hitting your head for a third time. When you were fully laid down on the ground, Mary-Beth pushed a pillow under your head. You gave her as much a smile as you could muster and shut your eyes. The cushion was exactly what you needed. Your head sank in to it with ease, the softness alone enough for you to start to drift off into slee-

"Oh, no you don't! You can't fall asleep now unless you're wanting to be meeting with the devil sooner than you planned!" Great, just who I need right now. You hadn't noticed in your disordered state but it seemed that Ms.Grimshaw had disassembled the others and was now standing in the entrance of your small tent. Her fussing was particularly bothersome this time, her loudness sending affliction through your eardrums. "I saw the way you walked in here. Either Ms.Karen took you out for drinks, or you hit your head too hard. Based on that nasty looking dress and nose bleed, I'm going with the latter!"

"Maybe it was both," you tried to tease, but even that felt too much. Sneer or no sneer, as always, she didn't seem to appreciate your back talk.

"Whatever then! Just go to sleep and don't wake up! I won't care! Not like you were any use anyway!" Her voice faded as she stomped away, hunching her shoulders and raising her arms in irritation. You gave short snort of laughter, happy with yourself.

Now left to your lonesome, you quickly realized how difficult staying awake would be. At least the high sun kept you somewhat wakeful, enough to keep you from completely succumbing to fatigue.

You expected to be alone for the remainder of the evening, left to catch yourself nodding off ever five minutes. Your dull plans of staring blankly out into the distance through the opening of your tent were interrupted by the likes of Mrs.Adler. She stood as a silhouette in the entrance, holding a flask.

"I brought you that water Karen called for," she said in that rough voice of hers. Unlike Grimshaw, the sound of Mrs.Adler's voice was a welcome sensation, somehow making the headache disappear for a bit.

"Thank you, Mrs.Adler," you managed, trying to convene a grateful tone. The other woman seemed to take this as an okay to enter. She walked over and kneeled down next to you, handing you the flask. Accepting it, you tried to sit up only to be met with faintness.

"Uhhhhohhhh," you groaned, falling back to the pillow and squeezing your eyes, waiting for the spell to fade.

"Just stay down there, I'll help you," said Mrs. Adler, supporting the back of your head with her hand. Her grip had found the area where neck met cranium, creating a perfect support that allowed you to take in the water. It felt like you were drinking holy water, bringing unfathomable relief with each sip.

"Wow, that's just what I needed," you panted, trying to take in air after gulping down nearly the whole flask. You handed it back to Mrs.Adler. For the following seconds, the two of you sat in near silence, the only sound being your heavy pant. You decided to fill what the empty air.

"It's usually me doing the comforting," you said, attempting to joke without sounding spiteful. Mrs.Adler looked down bashfully.

"I guess I thought it was my turn," she responded, now running a calloused hand through her full, honey-colored hair. Her eyes ran over the blood stained fabric of your dress, brows furrowed. As she looked around at you, her eyes widened slightly. You noticed her gaze had fallen on your wrists which had now turned a faded shade of purple.

Her eyes flicked to yours, ripe with perturbation. Her mouth hung open like she wanted to say something but couldn't remember how to say the words.

"It's what it looks like," you confirmed for her, sighing. "He didn't get away with it, though. I handled it."

The other woman's expression didn't change. She just kept looking at you with those same troubled eyes, her lips parted. She turned her head away, adopting the same stare she had that first morning after Arthur and the others had rescued her. Her eyes were open, yet she didn't seem to be seeing anything around her. 

"I wish I could say the same..." she mumbled almost inaudible. You got the impression that some part of her hoped you had heard what she said, while another part hoped that you hadn't. Either way, you heard, and it didn't take much sleuthing to figure out what she meant.

"I... I'm so sorry that happened to you," you uttered. You tried to come up with something further, but what do you say to a person who experienced that? While searching for words, you could see tears welling in her eyes. You rolled onto your side to face her and propped yourself up with an elbow. Your other hand tried to reach out to comfort her but she put up a hand to stop you. Whether it was to keep you from hurting yourself or to keep you away from her was unclear.

"I was in that cellar for days," she said. Her voice was shakier, but more clear. "Those... those O'Driscolls... each did as they pleased with me. I tried to get away from them but I....I couldn't." Her voice broke with the last word. All you could do was watch in sympathy as Mrs.Adler relived those horrible moments in her mind, tears trailing down her face, dripping from her hard jaw down to her dress.

"Mrs.Adler, I...." Your voice trailed off at a loss for words. She glanced over to you, her eyes still watery. 

"I know there ain't much for you to say. Thank you for just listening," she said, then pausing. "This all just feels like one big nightmare I can't wake up from."

At that, you were able to find words to give back to her. "It'll get better, I promise. It'll hurt for a while, I bet, but it'll get better."

"I sure hope so."

She then squeezed her eyelids shut, swallowed the lump in her throat, and let out a deep breath. She wiped her eyes and sniffed. 

"It's usually you tellin' the stories," she noted with a small, slightly forced grin, trying to lighten the mood.

"Well, if you have any more stories worth sharing, I'd love to hear them, Mrs.Adler. Preferably some more lighthearted ones." 

"Please," she said, "call me Sadie."

******

The next week was relatively uneventful. You had felt much better after that first night, but still had to spend most of your time on bed rest. When the lingering headache would let up, you'd sometimes find your entertainment in drawing or reading. Still, many hours were passed by sleeping. More than usual, somehow. Maybe Uncle hit his head REALLY hard, you joked to yourself. 

The evenings were the nicest. While the rest of the gang would sing around the campfire or dance around the phonograph set up in Dutch's tent, Sadie would join you in your tent. She still carried a dolorous aura about her, but the sound of faint sobs carrying through camp had become a more dispersed occurrence.

You each told stories to pass the time until you would start to drift into sleep. Sadie understood, though, and never tried to wake you back up. She seemed to just enjoy the company while she had it, and the opportunity to take her mind off her miseries. 

That name, though. Sadie. How did you not know that she had such a pretty name? It fits her, somehow, you would think to yourself.

After about a week had passed, you were now spending your days around camp. There wasn't much more to do but it was better than spending all day cooped up in a tent. You'd often spend time sitting near the edge of camp, overlooking the Heartlands. They were beautiful-the exact image your mind had always painted when dreaming of free, untainted lands for you and the others to live out the rest of your days. 

After more time had passed you grew anxious to get out of camp. The urge to get out and hunt was stronger than ever. It felt like the chickens scurrying around camp were mocking you with each erratic movement of their strange-looking heads. Still, thinking about the bumpy motion of horseback riding made your head heart all on its own.

Even some of the regular chores were starting to sound appealing, strangely. Cooking didn't sound like it'd be so bad. You'd sometimes catch yourself glancing across camp over to Pearson's wagon where all the cooking was done. It was there that Sadie would often be found chopping or washing vegetables for the stew. She moved about as if she were a prisoner, forced to carry out work or face the whip. Occasionally, she would look up and catch your gaze, her eyes vaguely brightening from their solemn state. This interaction usually left an embarrassed feeling fluttering in your chest, forcing you to look away and find something else to focus attention on. 

******

More days had passed and life had finally returned to normal. There were small physical irritations here and there, but nothing that prevented you from getting out and resuming your duties. It felt more than good to feel a sense of liberation from the confines of Horseshoe Overlook. Apparently, though, a couple of others had taken notice of your rehabilitation.

You woke up one morning to a strange surprise. A small, metal box sat near the entrance of your tent with a small note on top. Who the Hell would have sent me mail? Intrigued, you went the short distance over to where your new gift laid and picked up the letter. The handwriting was scribbly yet oddly refined. Arthur, you knew immediately. You read the note: 

I thought you may have been missing these. As promised, I didn't say a word to Dutch. Also, I know you said you were fine in your "lady's clothing," but you may want to reconsider. When you've read this, come find John and I.  
\- Arthur

He always was a man of few words. Incredibly curious as to what you would find, you moved your hands to the lock and clicked it open. Lifting up the lid revealed the contents of the box, finding an odd mix of items. 

Resting on top of some poorly-folded clothes were those golden revolvers you had stolen off your aggressor from the saloon. So that's where they went! The blood that had covered the barrel was nowhere to be seen, now replaced with a glossy polish. The weapon looked as if it could have been just bought an hour ago, good as new. 

You pulled the box further inside your tent and angled yourself to shield your new gifts from the sight of others. Taking one of the revolvers in your dominant hand, you pointed it out in front of you, admiring the intricate engravings shining with fresh gun oil. It felt strange to hold a gun like this- one where you could quickly maneuver it with ease, only requiring one hand to help find its target.

Moving on, the next items waiting for you made you feel and odd mixture of relief, enthusiasm, and embarrassment. You lifted the first piece of clothing out, unraveling it to find a light grey long-sleeved shirt. A line of buttons trailed down the front, and the material was thin and baggy. He did not, you thought. You reached back in to pull out the next article of clothing. I swear to God, these better not be what I think these are. Sure enough, they were. What you pulled out revealed itself to be a pair of thick, black trousers. Arthur! 

It was impossible not to admit that you had been wanting to wear something like this for a while; it would make hunting and riding and running and, honestly, any type of moving so much easier. The problem was, what would the others think? What kind of woman wears pants? In the grand scheme of things it wasn't a huge deal, but you already felt strangely like an outsider, so this likely wouldn't do much to help.

At the bottom of the lockbox was one last surprise- a holster. A pistol holster. What is the point of this?

Regardless of your concerns regarding the garments, you were dying to know how your new clothes fit. You slipped off the green dress you'd been wearing and pulled the pants on over your legs of which were still purple in spots from healing bruises. The pants were a size too big, pooling some at your feet. Next was the shirt. It was a bit big too, loose-fitting around your arms. Regardless of the poor sizing, you had to admit, this was the most comfortable you'd felt in a while. It made you feel like a real outlaw, not just a girl who found refuge in outlaws when she was most vulnerable. You slipped on your boots, bullet belt, and most importantly, stowed your new guns in your new holsters.

When ready to go meet Arthur and John, that embarrassed feeling crept back up on you. What if the other ladies see? Will they stare? Will they think I've gone crazy? What would Sadie think? 

Quickly peaking out of the tent, you spotted John and Arthur talking over by the edge of camp. That's helpful, at least. Mentally planning out a path to provide a relatively stealth route over to the boys, you snuck out and around the tent, not wanting to look back in case somebody had seen you. It was easier to just pretend that nobody had.

When you reached the two men, you tried to straighten yourself up to convey confidence. It didn't quite work. When Arthur caught sight of you, he elbowed John hard in the rib and bent over with laughter.

"What did I tell ya? She's a regular cowboy!" He chortled. John just stood there with an uncomfortable expression.

"What, do I like bad?" You asked, tucking your hands into your pockets, feeling even more self-conscious than before.

"Nah, you look fine! Just didn't think you'd actually wear 'em! I mean, new guns, new clothes, we oughta just get you your own horse!" He said, still laughing.

"I wouldn't mind that, actually," you mumbled, side tracked by the idea, "but where'd you even get these? Why'd you get me these?"

"The general store! I told him I was gettin' clothes for my son!" Arthur continued to chuckle at his own jokes. 

"Sure, like anyone would have you, you big buffoon," you shot back at him in attempt to regain that quality of poise.

"Right..." he trailed off, his laughter finally coming to an end. "Anyways, I was thinkin' that you should get out and do some jobs. Like, some real jobs."

"Why were you thinking that?"

"Well, you handled yourself well in Valentine, and you know how to work a gun. You can shoot just about any creature out there, and most of the men we put a bullet in are more like animals than anything you find in the woods," Arthur said. "Just needed to make sure you was properly equipped, that's all."

More combat? More killing? Thinking about it, maybe you didn't want to be an outlaw. Then again, maybe you did.

"So, then, what 'exciting adventures' did you have in mind for me?" You asked, somewhat nervous for what the answer could be. This time, John piped up.

"We was actually thinkin'- "

"Ah ah, don't pull me into this. I ain't the one fancying himself to be a shepherd," Arthur cut him off. John rolled his eyes.

"Fine. I was thinkin' we could do some sheep rustling," John resumed, "Folks pay good money for 'em in Valentine. There's some men moving a herd through the valley today- we're gonna take 'em off their hands."

"What do you need me for?" You asked.

"We just need some extra help with herdin' the sheep. Should be easy enough. If trouble comes up, you should be able to handle yourself just fine," Arthur reassured you.

Processing the task, you looked down and took a deep breath. Here you go, outlaw, your first job, you thought to yourself. The new title fit well.

You looked back up at the two men.

"Alright boys, where we off to?"

******

Arthur was crouched at the edge of the cliff, surveying the lands below using the scope on his rolling back rifle. Your group stood at the top of a ridge in the Heartlands, waiting for the right moment to take action. You and John each sat on your own horse, letting Arthur do his work while his horse stood obediently off to the side. The animal you were using was just an extra Kentucky Saddler that had been hitched on the outskirts of camp. You figured nobody would be missing it. 

The elevation of the ridge strengthened the wind. Its strong force flew past you, the material of your shirt flapping around you as it caught the breeze. It cooled your face, bringing about a feeling of pure freedom. The wind was free to flow as it wished, twisting and turning over the valley however it saw fit, not caring about what may be in its path. It was an element to learn from and strive to be more like. Today, you felt one step closer to that idea.

"Okay, I think that's them over there," called John, looking through his binoculars. Looking over the edge, you were able to spot a group of ranchers on horses with a herd of twenty or so sheep in the fields below.

"So what now?" Asked Arthur as he lowered the rifle, clearly not completely briefed on John's idea.  
"Put a shot in near 'em, I reckon they'll hightail it," answered John. "They're only ranch hands. Just watch the sheep."

Arthur brought the scope back up to his eye and steadied himself, closing the other one for proper concentration. He let out a deep, slow breath and didn't allow his lungs to refill. For a moment, he was completely statuette, like an old tree that had been rooted in the ground for many, many years. Then, he took the shot. 

You could hear the bullet echo as it traveled further and further away, finding its target just feet away from one of the ranch hands. The horse closest to the gunshot reared back, nearly throwing off the rider who barely hung on by the reins. The other two horses were already barreling away, unrestrained by the ranch hands as both man and horse sought to escape possible death. The sheep ran about in every direction, though thankfully staying at least relatively grouped together.

"That oughta do it," remarked John.

"I'm just surprised you pointed a rifle at somebody and we didn't end up with a dead body," you teased at Arthur, though it wasn't like you didn't mean it. Arthur just looked at you sarcastically, walking back over to his steed.

The three of you rode back down into the prairie, quickly, so to keep the sheep from scattering. It was odd, you thought, that the sheep always stayed in the herd. No matter how far a straggler may stray, it always came back to join the others. They just stick together, blindly, because that's all they knew, without knowing that there was a whole world outside the pasture for them to explore on their own. Dumb animals, you thought. 

"Let's get 'em all rounded up," John called to you and Arthur. "Most cowboys I know are dumb as nails, shouldn't be that hard."

He's right, you thought, how hard could it be?" Despite the seemingly easy task, you still felt a twinge of nervousness. If I mess up something this easy they'll never take me out on a job again. It was fun to get out and do something new, and the thought of never doing something new again was a depressing one.

You tried not to let the nerves get the best of you. You pulled on the reins of your horse to steer it in the right direction. Giving its sides a soft kick made the animal trot faster, covering more ground in less time. You used the angle of your route to guide the sheep back towards the main group, approaching the left of the sheep to encourage it to the right, and vice versa. Within a couple minutes, your small team had herded the mutton together and were ready to take them into town. 

"Why don't you two ride shank and leave the sheep to me?" said Arthur. He looked over at you. "Like I said, we shouldn't have any trouble at all, so don't worry."

"I wasn't," you lied.

John was mildly annoyed. "I brought you in on this," he said to the older man, like a kindergartener complaining to a teenager that it was his turn to pitch in a game of ball. 

"It'll be quicker this way, trust me," Arthur said. John didn't contest him, knowing that his own attempts at being quiet and elusive didn't negate the fact that he was the less experienced one, and should leave the tricky work to the more qualified.

No trouble arose as you worked your way over towards Valentine. You made sure to stay on high alert anyways, ready to pull the trigger at a moment's notice. Even with your own mental need to stay on guard, the ride was an enjoyable one. The path was bordered by far-reaching grasslands, only ending upon reaching the walls of magnificent rock formations that cast distinctive shadows over the lands. The fields were studded by patches of shrubbery and trees, providing cover for the many types of creatures that would pop out of hiding at the sound of your group. In the distance were snow-covered mountain peaks, reminding you of the place you had gladly left behind. 

When you, Arthur, and John reached the stables, the sheep filed in with ease, running straight into the barn. A few men were there to close up the gates behind the livestock as the three of you unmounted.

"Fine sheep," remarked John, approaching a man in a blue coat with a leather-bound book who appeared to be in charge.

"They're okay," he said, turning around and eyeing you all skeptically. The man had a thin face, the upper and lower halves separated by a black, bushy mustache. 

Arthur was agitated by the man's comment. "Well, you seen better around here?" He asked with an edge to his voice, sauntering over to the shorter man. 

The man sighed. "I've seen ones with less... ambiguity about their provenance," he answered, looking at the two men like he expected them to ask what those words meant. "And what in the Hell is the lady doin' with you? She doesn't look dressed in the 'proper' clothing of the type of lady I'd think your kind would associate with."

"What you tryin' to say?" demanded Arthur in a hushed yet aggressive tone, pushing closer. The man was unrattled.

"What I'm trying to say is you give me twenty five percent kick back and I won't say nothin' to nobody." He gave a condescending nod, knowing he had the upper hand.

"Excuse me?" said Arthur, moving even closer.

"I will excuse you... for twenty five percent."

"Do you want me to put another hole in your head," Arthur growled in to the man's face, close enough to spit on him. 

"Folks swing for rustlin' livestock," the man shot back. "Twenty five percent."

John came forward while Arthur drew back and threw up his arms in frustration. "Fifteen!"

"Twenty!"

"Eighteen!"

"Done," the man gave in, swiftly shaking John's hand. He turned and held his hand out to Arthur as well, which he reluctantly shook. The man just looked over at you without a word, watching you with interest and confusion but never acknowledging your presence again.

You made your way back towards the horses ahead of the other two, listening to Arthur bicker with the ranchers behind. When securely on your horse, you watched the two men mount beside you, Arthur shaking his head, his lips tight in frustration.

"Dutch is waiting for us at the saloon," John said as he climbed onto his steed.

You and Arthur both looked at each other before looking back at John. "He is?" you both asked in unison. Why would he care about meeting us after a small job like that?

A still vexed Arthur heckled John all the short ride to the saloon. "Thanks for all the help with this. Can't herd, can't swim..."

"Give it a rest, will ya?" John said, "We ain't kids no more!" 

"We never really was," Arthur sighed. That makes three of us, you thought to yourself.

Once you had all reached the saloon and set the horses out front, you set foot inside to find an enthusiastic Leopold Strauss ranting to a not-so-enthusiastic looking Dutch. The leader of the Van Der Linde gang was nodding absentmindedly at Strauss' ongoing words, lifting his whiskey glass to his lips and not pulling it away for a long moment. Upon seeing you three enter, his face re-lit with the plentiful energy the man was so well known for. Still, the type of energy painted across his face was that of his less pleased self.

"Where have you been?" He demanded discreetly, eyeing the two men sternly between small, inquiring glimpses over at you. "And why'd you bring her?" he asked, nodding over at you. "No offense, ma'am," he added.

"We was workin'," Arthur told him quickly, "Marston's thing. Needed some extra hands for the job. She did well," he said, pointing at you. You stood a little taller while trying to hide the smile spreading over your face.

"Good, I'm glad to hear it," Dutch nodded, pleased, but still waiting for more information, "and...?"

As Arthur sat down with Dutch to consult over whatever plan had most recently been constructed in the gang leader's peculiar mind, John and Leopold went to go check on the status of the auction. With nothing left to do, you tried to find a way to busy yourself.

You walked over and leaned on the bar. With no money, you drink options were limited which was fine. It was best to stay away from alcohol after all the head trouble, anyway. "Just water," you called to the bartender. He filled up a glass for you and slid it over. You hadn't realized just how parched you were until the first drops hit your tongue. After normally spending most of your time in the forest, spending a whole day out under the sun hit harder than you anticipated.

Suddenly, breaking through the subdued noises of the saloon, a loud call came from outside.

"Van der Linde!"

It felt as if the blood in your veins had ceased to flow right before resuming its course faster than ever. Heat rose to your face as you felt your heart pump harder and harder. Your breathing became short and quick, cycling air as swiftly as possible to prepare your body for whatever threat was waiting for you outside. 

You quickly whipped around to face the front of the saloon to find all patrons paralyzed in their seats. All patrons except for Arthur and Dutch, that is, who were already up and moving- Arthur at the window and Dutch cautiously approaching the doors. 

"Get out here!" Called the voice outside. From where you stood near the bar, rich-looking men on horseback were visible through the window. The man shouting in the middle was an older, well-fed looking man wearing an expensive black coat over a blue, button up vest and tie. A small gold chain hung off the front of his person to symbolize his wealth. His grey beard was trimmed like the affluent men of St.Louis, refined and neat to show their status. You noticed he wore leather gloves to clutch the reins of his horse, presumably to protect his delicate hands from becoming roughed up and ruining future deal-sealing handshakes.

"You don't know me, but you keep robbing me!" the old man called. "My name is Leviticus Cornwall!"

Dutch and Arthur looked at each other in a way that could only be summed up as an 'oh shit' moment.

"Isn't that the guy who you.." you whispered to your gang mates, recognizing the name.

"Robbed the train of? It sure is!" Arthur called back to you, not taking his eye off the men outside. That was the man they robbed the train of to get us all out of Colter! Oh shit, indeed.

"I am not a man to be messed with by the likes of you!" Continued Cornwall. "Get out here, before I have these men killed!"

That same rush of terror hit you again but now with ten times the force. Two of Cornwall's men came into view from the left, each holding a man in their grasp by gunpoint. John and Strauss! Strauss's small, old man face was tight with horror, his hands trying to pry his captors arm away from his neck. John struggled against his own captor's clutches, causing the man to tighten his arm around John's neck, making it more difficult for your gang mate to breath. 

Dutch looked to Arthur, somehow managing to stay almost perfectly calm. "What do you think?" He asked him over the continued demands spewing from Cornwall's mouth. 

Arthur looked much more panicked. He looked to Dutch and then you, then back out the window. "Well...uh..." he started, grabbing his beard in attempt to concentrate. His brow was furrowed as he looked down at the floorboards, thinking as fast as he could.

"Here, you start spinnin' a yarn and... when I think the moment's right, I'll make a move," he said to Dutch before turning to you. "The horses are out front so we can't get to 'em. You head out the back and see if you can make it to the stable at the end of Main Street. When you get there, call the horses, hop on the first stable horse you see, and hightail it. Don't stop, get outta here before things get ugly," Arthur rushed to get the words out.

No time to argue, you sprinted towards the back, the floorboards creaking loudly with each hard step. You flew open the back door and pressed yourself against the wall on the outside. You crept around the corner of the saloon until Cornwall's men came into sight. Upon seeing them, you entered into a crouch and kept inching around the building. When you neared the front corner, hoping beyond anything that the men hadn't seen you, you peered around to scout the scene in front of the saloon.

Dutch and Arthur were slowly moving out onto either side of the saloon's porch, hands held high. John and Strauss has been kicked to their knees, now kneeling in the mud. There was a knife pointed at John's temple while a pistol was pointed at Strauss's. Your group's horses were flailing about wildly, kicking up dirt around them. Cornwall was nowhere to be seen.

"Gentlemen, this is a terrible mistake. This is a case of mistaken identity," Dutch began, keeping his voice strong yet charismatic. You wanted to take the the opportunity while the men were distracted to sprint to the stable, but your feet wouldn't move. Seeing your friends before you, one wrong move away from death, sparked something deep within. How could you live with yourself if you let them die while you just ran? 

Just like before, you hadn't realized you'd acted until you had. It wasn't you reaching down into the holster, wrapping your hand around the cool, sleek grip, bringing the weapon up to eye level, and pulling the trigger. It was a ghost that had taken possession, untamed and wild, acting from a place of which you could give no name, but not you. And yet, there you were, standing alone as the chaos unfolded before you, a smoking gun still hot in your grasp.

The bullet had found it's target in the face of the henchman holding John, sending the man falling to the ground, his face obscured by blood. The second his holder had loosened his hold on him, John flipped around and shot the head of Strauss's captor. Arthur, too had acted quickly, firing three expertly-aimed shots into the three other Cornwall henchmen in front of the store, putting the body count at five. It was only the beginning.

"What in the Hell?!" Arthur yelled, hopping the front railing and sprinting over to your location. He grabbed you while still on the run and dove behind a crate, throwing you both to the ground. "What the Hell was you thinking?!" he roared in between going up to get a shot off.

"I-I-I don't know! I don't even think I was thinking!” You were panicking, eyes wide and unblinking.

"Well, I guess we got a change of plans!" Arthur yelled back to you, now sprinting behind an old wagon, moving up for a better position next to Dutch. The gunshots were uncountable, each sound layering on top of the other to create a sea of never-ending blasts. Arthur yelled louder to compensate. "You're fightin' your way through, now!"

The shock had faded, allowing you to snap back and ground yourself in reality. Your body was hyped on adrenaline and ready to act. A strange sense of determination filled you up. This was life or death. This was real. This was going to end with either you or them in the ground, and you knew it wasn't going to be you. With a quick, deep breath, you steadied before plunging yourself right into the action.

Popping up from your hiding place behind the wagon, you quickly took aim and fired, your bullet finding its target directly in the neck of your enemy. His body fell sideways, revealing itself around the side of the crate he'd been hiding behind. You crouched back down to hide from the shower of bullets. Hearing bangs from above, you came back up and sank two shots into the abdomen of another who had been perched on the deck of a building. Damn, I might actually be good at this! 

Feeling more and more confident with each defeated target, your tactical approach shifted more and more to the offensive. Crouch, shoot, crouch, shoot someone else, crouch, reload, repeat. Sadism was settling in as the excitement began to chip away at your moral compass. It was fun, almost, to take down those who were trying to do the same to you.

The boldness you felt was knocked back down a peg within a minute. You were reloading the revolver for another round of annihilation when an immense pain shot down the back side of your left arm. You let out a cry through gritted teeth, squinting to try to block out the affliction. Flipping your head around you were met with two coaches of armed men jumping out onto the street to join the fight. "Arthur, Dutch, John, behind you!" you yelled, sprinting to a porch of a nearby building for cover. The three others dispersed, finding new places to deal with their foes. You could feel the metal mass lodged in your upper arm, see the blood seeping out around it. The pain was becoming more numb by the second as your body worked to heal itself. Breathing hard, you pressed yourself against the wooden wall. It's fine, it's fine, I'm okay, I'll be okay. There was no time to focus on the wound.

Launching back in, leaning around the corner, you fired back at the men from the wagons. The first two shots missed but the third and forth went right into the legs of a henchman, crippling him to the ground. He was screaming in agony. The sound was horrible, digging deep into places within yourself that you didn't want to visit then and there. Pushing down the arising emotions, you came back around the side and put another shot into his head, ending the dreadful howl.

Arthur, John, and Dutch took care of the remaining men from the coaches but there were still loud sounds of shots and yells coming from Main Street. Old man Strauss came out from around the crate he’d used for cover, holding his arms around his head to provide protection from bullets. 

"Where are you going? That's right at them!" He cried in his thick, Austrian accent to Dutch, who instead of going back to the horses was moving towards the gunfire. "We don't run, Mr.Strauss!" Dutch called back.

You had never been in a gun fight yourself, but upon turning the corner of the building and looking around the street, it was clear to see that you were at a disadvantage. A heavy disadvantage. There were dozens of men spread all over the ground and rooftops, each one shooting like the bounty on you all worth more than any amount of gold could satisfy. You pressed yourself hard against the wood, watching shot after shot fly past just feet away. What is Dutch thinking? Taking on all of them is a death wish!

Just then, a shrill yell came from the right of you, just behind a wagon parked next to the store. Strauss was lying on the ground clutching his leg, his dull gray clothes wrinkled and dirty, his pant leg ripped open to show a fresh wound. "Good God!" cried Strauss, clutching his leg in pain. 

John briefly flipped his head back to see what was going on, still keeping his gun pointed out in front of him. "They got Strauss!" he called when he saw.

Dutch moved fast to grab Strauss off the ground. "Arthur, cover us! We'll push the wagon! You, Miss!" Dutch yelled back to you. "Get in the wagon as well! You'll be safe in there!"

You'd never outwardly question an order from the Van der Linde gang leader himself. While Dutch loaded Strauss in, you ducked your head and ran the short distance to the wagon. You didn't slow down upon reaching it, jumping in by using your right hand to stabilize as you threw yourself into the wagon next to Strauss.

You got yourself into a crouch as the wagon began to roll, with Dutch and John pushing while Arthur shot any man in sight. Gun smoke fogged up the town around you as bullets flew by, too close for comfort. Regaining your solidity, you put yourself flat against the side of the wagon and listened for enemy gunfire. A shot was fired on the left side of the wagon, alerting you to your foe's position. At the sound, you emerged from your hiding spot in the wagon and took the man down with two shots.

"There she is!" cried a voice from the right side. You quickly flipped your head back around to see a man pointing a finger right at you before bringing up his gun. Out of instinct, you dove onto the floor of the wagon, covering your head to shield yourself. Switching to the other side of the wagon, you sheltered yourself before aiming and letting three bullets fly, taking three men down with them.

Men were raining from the store decks as Arthur skillfully took them all down, one by one, each falling off the balcony as the life left their bodies. Strauss was groaning in agony beside you the whole time, earning him nothing but pestering from the other boys who were all too familiar with the present scene. You continued to help protect your group from the safety of the wagon, which soon reached the end of the street. 

When parked in front of the stables, Arthur went to lift Strauss as Dutch and John whistled for their horses while ducking for cover behind some crates. You and Arthur whistled too, and within seconds, three strong horses were barreling towards the group. Thankfully the horses were smart enough, or perhaps cowardly enough, to not run through where all the action was happening, and instead came from the right of Main Street. Wait, only three?

"Shit, mine doesn't recognize my whistle! Goddamnit!" you expressed outwardly, now ducked behind the crates while the others rushed to their steeds. Just above your shoulder, a shot skimmed the top of the crate, sending splinters of wood flying. Dutch didn't acknowledge what you said, maybe not hearing, but John yelled to you. "Grab one from the stable! Hurry!" he said, before snapping the reins and galloping away from the decimated town.

Here goes nothing, you thought. You sprinted for the stable, hearing bullets zip past behind you as you ran. You vaulted the fence and ran for the nearest horse. 

The horse before you had a beautiful grey pelt with dapples of white going along its back, looking as if the animal had a permanent snow coat. Its main and tail was ombré, starting with dark grey at the roots and ending with that same blizzard-white. It looked strong and capable, its muscles visibly well-built. Somebody's probably going to miss this one, you thought.

The horse was bucking in small amounts but seemed to have been well trained, as when you jumped onto its back it ceased its efforts to throw you off within seconds. More men were emerging from Valentine's shops, all armed and angry. With a kick to the horse's sides, you and your new mount raced to catch up with your friends, successfully escaping the Valentine Massacre.

*** End of Chapter 3 ***


	4. Trigger Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the trouble in Valentine, the Van der Linde gang found a new place to rest in the southern lands of Lemoyne. Adjusting to life in this new place is tough on everyone, especially one particular woman who seeks a life beyond a cooking tent.
> 
> I hope this is what you all were waiting for! This chapter is VERY Sadie focused and when the pining truly starts. I'm also fleshing out the reader character more and I think you guys will like where I take the character! Anyways, please enjoy and thanks again so much for reading! :)

There was a pounding on the door. It shook with each bash, each time quaking more aggressively than the last. There were more sounds coming from the outside, seemingly voice-like, though it was impossible to make sense of the words' meaning.

Though slightly startled, you rushed over to the commotion. It was hard to see in the dark of night, the room lit only by the few candles that remained ignited. The old rugs overspreading the floor left a familiar touch as each bare foot left the ground to follow the other.

Reaching up to the handle, the pounding continued and the voice was louder, though hardly more clear. You twisted the knob and were almost instantly thrown back, struggling to keep balance as the door flew open at you.

In the entrance was an older boy, looking to be of sixteen or seventeen years old. His long white work clothes were covered in stains of all colors and he reeked of whiskey. His face was flushed but not mellow- instead, it was angry.

From there, the rest of the scene was a blur, your brain straining to make sense of the events happening before you. The noise in your eardrums was obscured, akin to radio static, or as if you were underwater.

The angry boy was yelling but the words were muffled. He moved slowly but aggressively, his long strides bringing himself closer and closer to you as you backed against the wall. You were talking to him, screaming at him, but what it was, you couldn't tell.

The next thing the boy did was squeeze you by the neck, lifting you inches off the ground while you wheezed for air. You thought you could feel yourself calling for help but your deafness left you in mystery.

The boy way yelling in your face now, the stench of alcohol ripe on his breath. His spit flew in your face as you threw your head about frantically to try to get away.

Next you knew, you were being thrown to the ground. The impact sent pain through your bones as you collided with the floor, tears now streaming down your cheeks like rapids. You pushed yourself pack up feebly to your hands and knees, and looked up. A gun barrel was what met your eyes, held in the hands of the boy, swaying somewhat with his drunken movements.

Just like that, all the sounds came flooding in. You heard the click, saw his fingers tense as he started to clench the trigger, but when the sound came you were still there, alive.

The boy was now on the floor, his leg snapped in two and bleeding out, his haunting howls filling the space. His cries were wretched, somehow transferring his pain from himself on to you. You started screaming too, trying to find a way to block out the screeching with your own.

A man much older than the boy came into view from around the side of the wall, his gun still pointed down at the younger male. The older man was red-faced and covered in sweat, but not from drunkenness. An indescribable fear shown in his eyes, showing that he was all too sober for this moment. His hand was shaking rapidly without control.

Hesitating, bringing his free hand to steady the quivering one, the man took the last shot, and the boy's screaming went silent.

******

You took in a deep, hard breath, your muscles tensing for a split second as your eyelids threw themselves open. Looking around, finding yourself safe in the tranquil darkness of your own tent, you let your muscles relax again. Laying there on the ground, you put a hand to your chest. Your heart was thumping rapidly against your touch, at a pace too similar to that of earlier's events in Valentine. Jesus, that hasn't happened in a while, you thought to yourself, taking a slow inhale and exhale to try to calm your heart back down.

As you laid back to try to fall back asleep, you found sweat dampening your skin and sticking your body to your clothes. Even at night, the harsh heat of Lemoyne was ever unforgiving. Toads and crickets were croaking and chirping furiously outside in the nearby trees, singing their high-pitched melody for all the state to hear. Though somewhat irritating, the loud chatter and the humid air around you helped you feel present, rather than stuck in your visions. Closing your eyes once more, you settled your head into your pillow and tried to drift back to sleep, praying that you would not revisit the same dreams you had just minutes before.

******

It took a few more days than usual to get used to Clemons Point. It was a nice sight, no doubt, and there was no worry over keeping warm, but it just didn't feel right. Horseshoe Overlook felt right. The Heartlands felt especially right. Even Valentine, despite all the trouble, felt like a place your group belonged. This didn't. A group of free-running outlaws in pursuit of fresh western country to call home didn't belong in the swampy lands of the prejudiced, obscene, and degenerate.

The people here were of odd sorts, so wrapped up in medieval ideologies and birth-determined hierarchy that even the so-called civilized folk of Lemoyne were no better than the gangs that spread thick through the state. The Lemoyne Raiders were all over, making it almost impossible to do something as small as going into town for a drink without having to deal with threats from the Ex-Confederate dissolutes. Thankfully, they'd kept their guns in the holsters during the times you'd ran into them, their weapon of choice instead being words that would make your skin crawl as you rushed away. From what you'd heard around camp, the boys were getting into their fair share of scraps with the other gang, quickly putting them near the top of the list of most-hated gangs, right under the O'Driscolls.

Because of the intimidating conditions outside, in addition to much-needed recovery time after recent events, you were spending more time than you'd pleased at camp. The bullet wound in your left tricep had scarred up and was healing, though it still hurt to do much with that arm. The wound had healed in a bit of an ugly way but you were able to save your friends from being subjected to look at it by donning that long sleeved shirt Arthur had given you. You were feeling less anxious about wearing the shirt and trousers now, preferring the more breathable, loose-fitting material to deal with the harsh southern sun. The hole from the bullet in the left sleeve was stitched up thanks to Miss Grimshaw, though she didn't appear approving of the new attire. I can't say I'm surprised, you'd thought.

Other than her, the rest of the ladies didn't seem to mind. Some even seemed to admire your change in style. Sadie had continued to visit with you in the evenings, just as she did back at the old camp, though now her eyes tended to linger a little more than they did before. When you'd come back from Valentine and gave her the play by play of everything you could remember from the chaotic scene, her eyes lit up in a way you had never seen before. She looked... happy? That might not have been the right word for it, but she had an energy about her that radiated enthusiasm, and possibly a little bit of envy. By the end of the story, her jaw was hanging open and the ends of her lips curled somewhat upward in an excited smile.

"Well, damn, aren't you lucky! Sounds like you got your fair share of fun!" She'd said.

"Did you forget the part where I almost died about ten times?" You reminded her, giggling a bit.

"But ya didn't, so it's all fine!" She'd laughed back. That was probably the first time you'd heard her laugh. It was a pure, genuine laugh, not coated with any sadness or anguish, at least that you could detect. It was a beautiful thing to hear.

Despite appearing mostly relaxed while talking with her in the evenings, when observing Sadie throughout the camp she seemed more riled and irritated than before. Instead of sluggishly moving through her chores, she now seemed to fume with rage each time she had to go grab more food for Pearson to prepare. Her freckled face was tight and knitted in a constant expression of irritability and her lips would sometimes move as she mumbled through her tasks. The sudden move after all the attention in Valentine was tough on everyone. You thought that might have something to do with it.

You'd soon figure out just what Sadie's issue was. It had been a bright, sunny morning, just like every other morning. You were starting the day off slow, sitting on a log drinking coffee, watching as the sun glistened off the top of the river that bordered the camp.

"Havin' a nice, relaxin' mornin', are ya?" A rough, deep voice said from behind. You turned your head to see Arthur striding over to you. He'd changed his appearance recently to fit the new scenery, parading around without his hunting jacket. He wore his blue undershirt, which held a resemblance to your own top. He still had that leather hat of his, though, same as always

"I'll be getting on with my work soon enough, Arthur," you said, turning back towards the water. The man came around the side of the log and stood near you, joining you in your gaze. "And I don't see you doing anything useful right about now!" You added.

"Fair point," he said, looking down at the pebbles below that made up the riverbank. He paused for a moment before continuing again. "You like it here?" He asked.

You took a deep sigh. "I don't know. I mean, it works. It's nice and all. I've just been thinking about it and it doesn't feel like this is where we're meant to be," you answered, looking up to find Arthur still staring down at his boots. He turned his head back to you with an expression that showed his understanding. "I know what yer talkin' about," he sighed as well. "How'd we end up this far south? And we're goin' way farther east than ever before. Our kind isn't meant for this side of the country, where it's all been civilized."

"I just hope we find a way out of this place, sooner than later," you admitted, knowing he likely agreed. "I'm already sick of all the squealing hogs everywhere, and these damn mosquitoes! As if the alligators weren't bad enough."

"Well, you may be in luck. Dutch's got a plan goin'," Arthur said. You rolled your eyes at him. "When does he not?" You asked sarcastically. The leader was always talking about what the gang's next moves would be, sometimes making more promises than he could keep.

"Heh," Arthur chuckled, "it's a bit different this time. This plan, well, this is one of the stranger ones." He gave a small smirk and shook his head in disbelief, sitting down on the log next to you. "Dutch's tryin' to get us tied in with the sheriff in that town. Rhodes, I think it was called. Says we're gonna be 'hidin' in plain sight!'" You just looked Arthur in the eye, unblinking. Confusion was eating away at you, half expecting Arthur to reveal it was all a joke. "Yeah, I'm gonna need you to explain that a little more," you said when you realized the reveal wasn't coming.

He gave another short laugh. "Yeah, I figured. Alright," he started, "we was out when we found Trelawny caught in one of those caged-wagons these lawmen were usin'. That slippery little Englishman, always finds some way to come back after leavin' us for months. Anyways, these other fellas who were in the cage with him picked the lock while Dutch tried to smooth talk the sheriff to let our guy go. Long story short, we ended up catchin' those other guys for the sheriff and now I guess Dutch wants to keep it goin'."

"That's... definitely an interesting one. I guess they aren't too big on background checks in Rhodes," you replied, not really knowing what else to say. "That sheriff doesn't seem to be the sharpest."

"The deputy don't have too much sense either. I rode with him back into town and he didn't seem to find anything suspicious about a group like us. Showin' up, dressed like we was straight outta a bounty poster, and wrestlin' with a whole bunch a' escaped criminals- nothin' strange there!" Arthur said, amused. It only took a few second for his smile to morph into a puzzled expression. "He was tellin' me about these people, though. Apparently some nasty folk from town."

"You mean the Lemoyne Raiders?" You cut him off. "Gosh, I hate those guys! They can't ever just leave people alone!" you said, remembering your few confrontations with the group.

Arthur shook his head. "Nah, not them. This was a family he was talkin' about. Apparently some big family runnin' half the town is in some sorta petty feud with this other family. Some sorta deal datin' back hundreds a' years." He saw you staring doubtfully, able to see that you thought he was full of shit. "I ain't a creative man, you know. I can't make stuff like this up," he said, hands held up in defense.

All you could do in response was lean over further and rest your elbows on your knees, propping up your head head with your hands while trying to process the insane new place you called home. "What have we gotten ourselves into?"

Before Arthur could reply, you heard angry shouts coming from inside camp. You both turned to find the source of the commotion but couldn't see exactly where it was coming from. "Jesus, what now?" Arthur grumbled as he got up, followed by you as you each stepped over the log to search for the disturbance. It wasn't all too difficult.

Following the noises led the two of you towards the center of the encampment to the cooking tent. What you found there was something you were not expecting-or prepared- to see. It was Sadie standing there, holding a long, sharp knife out at Pearson, an unhinged fire in her eye. Her teeth were gritted and her stance strong and agile, ready to pounce on her opponent. You'd never seen her this wild and full of fury before. Pearson was standing his ground, challenging her knife with a cleaver of his own, his plump face red with agitation. There was fresh-looking meat laying on the table next to the cook, explaining the blood stains all over his shirt. He looked almost as mad as Sadie. Almost, but not quite.

"You come near me sailor..." Sadie began in a hushed, sinister tone, "...and I will slice you up!" She ended her threat with a yell, waving her blade out at him threateningly.

"You put that knife down or you're going to be missing a hand, lady!" Pearson crept closer to her, his cleaver just inches away. She didn't budge an inch.

"Woah woah woah! What's going on here?" You yelled to them, stepping in before things got too far out of hand. You looked at Sadie, then Pearson, then back at Sadie. You felt a twinge of worry for your friend. She had an obvious physical disadvantage against the ex-Navy veteran but something about her gave you the impression that she would still have won the fight if you had let things play out. "What is wrong with you two?" Arthur joined in, looking annoyed, like a parent upset with their kids for fighting at the dinner table.

"I ain't choppin' vegetables for a livin'!" Sadie yelled, stabbing the knife into a wooden table beside her. Thank God she found something to stab that didn't have a pulse, you thought.

She looked you in the eye almost pleadingly, begging to be set free from her excruciatingly tedious tasks. Realizing that Sadie was looking at you for help, a slight panic rose to your cheeks. "I-I don't know what I can do... Arthur?" You said, looking to him. You figured he ought to have at least some idea somewhere in that small mind of his, because in this moment yours was not getting the job done.

He wasn't of much help. "What's gotten into you? Was there insufficient feathers in your pillow?" He asked Sadie condescendingly, which was clearly not the answer she, or you for that matter, wanted. "Arthur!" You yelled at him, angrily punching his side.

Sadie looked as if she wanted to pull the knife out of the wood and stab it right through Arthur's face. "I ain't lazy, Mr.Morgan!" She spat, throwing her towel to the ground. "I'll work, but not this!" She pushed herself past Arthur and shoved her shoulder through Pearson's as she made her way to the opposite side of the cooking tent. Circling around the butcher table, you joined Sadie where she stood, facing away from the two men with her arms folded.

"Ain't cookin' work?" Arthur called to her. You shot him another angry look, trying to send him a signal to shut up. You looked back to your friend and placed a hand on her shoulder, gently nudging her to face you, which she stiffly went along with. "Just try to ignore him. Sometimes he's too dumb to understand when to keep his mouth shut!" you tried to raise your voice enough for the man to hear you. He just waved you away and folded his arms in front of his chest. One minute we're having a nice conversation, and the next I'm having to scold him for acting like a thirteen year old! I guess that's just Arthur, you thought.

Sadie squeezed her eyes shut and pursed her lips, subconsciously messing with her hair to try to calm herself down. You rested both hands comfortingly on her shoulders while she took a long breath.

She then opened her eyes and slowly turned around to face Arthur and Pearson. "My husband and I... we shared all the work... all of it," she said, moving her hands while she talked as a way to release some of the built of tension that was trying to break free.

At the mention of her husband, you felt a small, odd pang in your chest. You'd almost let yourself forget that this woman, only a few months ago, had lost her husband- the love of her life, the one person who meant more to her than anyone else out there. The reminder hurt, strangely, as you forced yourself to remember that even though she was one of your closest friends, possibly even the closest, that your friendship could never measure up to what she once had.

"I was out in the fields... I can hunt, carry a knife, or use a gun!" Sadie continued, her eyes flicking to yours briefly. Suddenly, it all made sense. That was why she'd seemed drawn to you in a way that she wasn't towards the others. You were right, she's not like the other ladies. She never cared for talking about what dress to wear or how many outfits needed to be cleaned, because that wasn't her life. Her life was like yours- spent doing things that few women did. Upon meeting you, she was in the eye of the storm with everything she had crumbling right before her. The light shining through the howling winds, the only glimpse into the life she had once known, was you.

The realization gave you a small jolt of pride. You'd been the one to help her through the lowest of points in her life. You'd been the one to break through the shell and make her feel like there's at least one person left she can put her trust in. The feeling faded away quickly. Why should you be so selfish as to feel good while a friend is suffering? The thought left you feeling a confused feeling of guilt that rested uncomfortably in your gut.

"But I tell you..." Sadie went on, "you keep me here... I'll skin this fat old coot and serve him for dinner!" She taunted Pearson as she spoke, pointed to him and moving closer to the bigger man. You quickly came around the side of her, putting your hands on the front of her shoulders to keep her from getting any closer to the cook.

"Watch your damn mouth, you crazy goddamn fishwife!" Pearson shot back. Without hesitation, Sadie lunged, letting out a grunt as she reached for him. You grabbed her, holding her back before she could make good on her threat. Arthur finally decided to help the situation, moving himself in front of Pearson. "Enough, both of ya!" He yelled. It was hard to not be hyper-aware of how close you and Sadie were to each other before the other woman backed down and stumbled away from your hold.

Arthur was looking just as annoyed as Pearson now as he turned to face Sadie. "Well, come with me then. You wanna head out there? So be it..." he said. Sadie had her hands on her hips now, looking like she was trying hard to keep her mouth shut. "But we do more than just huntin'- we're hunted. And them things huntin' us? Well, they got guns of their own. I'm fine with bringin' her out," he pointed over to you. "I've seen her in action. But how can I know you can shoot? All I've seen you kill is a table."

When he finished his speech, the four of you were left in silence. During that moment, Sadie didn't take her stare off of Arthur for a second. The hush was finally broken when she gave her reply.

"I ain't afraid of dyin'."

Something about the way she had spoke made your blood run cold. Whether it was her rough voice or the very words themselves, something had made your heart skip a beat. Only a person who had faced the worst of what the world could throw at them could see death as merely the bridge between this world and the next. That's what had proven to be so in your experience, at least.

"Good," was all Arthur could say. It was a lot more than what you could manage. You and he exchanged an awkward look, somewhat unsure of what you were doing, both looking to the other for an answer. Arthur cleared his throat. "You need anything, Mr.Pearson?" he asked the cook who was now standing off to the side, cooling off. "Maybe Mrs.Adler and I should take a little ride."

Pearson sighed. "Yeah, sure," he said. He walked over to a shelf in the side of the cooking wagon, and came back to you and the others holding a parcel in one hand and a sheet in the other. "Here's my list," he said, handing the sheet to Arthur, "and can you post this letter for me while you're there?" Arthur grabbed the letter from him as well, nodding. Pearson and Sadie gave each other one last stare down before parting.

Sadie let her shoulders untense as you both walked away from the cooking wagon together. "I'm sorry about all that," you said, rubbing your arm. "Arthur can be... insensitive at times, but he really is a good man when you get to know him."

"It's alright," Sadie said. "None of that was your fault. I'm just glad you were there to hold me back."

"I am too. If you kill Pearson, I don't trust anyone else in this band of bastards to cook for me. We'd all have salmonella in a matter of days!" you joked, though weren't entirely kidding. Sadie chuckled and you noticed some of the agitation drain from her face. "I'm inclined to agree with you," she said, smiling. The two of you looked the other in the eye as you let your laughter trickle out, only looking away when you heard Arthur yell to you.

"What're we doin' here? You comin', woman?" he called back, already sitting in the front seat of the wagon. Sadie looked back to you. "You wanna come along too?" she asked. You felt your cheeks grow a bit warm at the question, though uncertain of why. "I'm sure I can make the time," you said, feeling yourself beaming. You'd never done any type of job with Sadie before, even if it was just a shopping trip and a postal delivery.

You both walked over to where the wagon and the horses were hitched. "What, you comin' too?" Arthur asked. "We ain't got room for the both a' ya." You approached the side of the wagon and just stood there, looking up at the man with a smirk. Arthur returned with a look of his own- an annoyed, exasperated expression that you knew meant you would get your way. "Ahhhh," he said, standing up an throwing down the reins. "I can't deal with more a' this today. You better drive well, I ain't stealin' us a new wagon when this one gets busted!"

"Thank you, Arthur," is all you said, waiting for him to jump down before climbing up to take the seat for yourself, the smirk never leaving your face. After all these years, it wasn't hard to know how to get Arthur to do what you wanted- a power you avoided abusing but couldn't help having fun with it from time to time. That is, unless he was busy antagonizing someone else, in which case few forces could stand in the way of the man.

"Oh, wait Mr.Morgan," Sadie called before he could go to unhitch his horse. "Can I have that letter?" she asked. "You readin' his mail, now?" Arthur interrogated. "Oh, so robbin' and killin's okay, but letter readin's where we draw the line?" she said, hands on her hips, toting a similar smirk that you had.

Arthur just dropped his head and pulled out the letter. "You women sure know how to make a man go crazy." Sadie just took it from his hands and went to climb into the wagon, taking the seat next to you. Once seated, she excitedly unfolded the letter to reveal its contents. When Arthur was saddled up, you took off.

"Let's see what we got here," she said as you manoeuvred the cart through the trees. Sadie cleared her throat before beginning to read outloud to you. "Dear Aunt Cathy," she started in a low, husky, exaggerated voice that you couldn't help but giggle at. "I haven't heard from you in some time, so I prayed to the Lord above... that your health has not deteriorated further," she petered out, the dullness of the letter getting to her after just one sentence.

"Come on, there's gotta be something good in there," you said, looking over to her before putting your eyes back out at the road in front of you. The dirt paths here were a unique, rusty color, like an old barn whose color had faded over the years. "Hmmm let's see... Oh!" Sadie exclaimed. The way she jumped with excitement when she found some good gossip made your chest tingle with happiness. Seeing your friend this joyful was a rare occasion, a special treat. "Listen to this!" she said, nudging you softly with her elbow. "Since we last corresponded, I have traveled widely, making no small name for myself." The two of you laughed as she finished the sentence. "Yeah, right!" you said, "All he does is cook for us! He's practically the royal cook for the Queen of England, herself!"

Sadie laughed even harder at the joke, trying to catch her breath so she could keep reading. "Wait, wait, there's more," she said through her giggles, "Before you ask, I am still yet to take a wife, but I can assure you that it's not for a lack of sutors..." she trailed off as silent laughter took her over. You were both laughing like drunks now, tears clouding your vision of the road so much that you almost didn't see the rock right in front of you.

"Stop! What're you doin'?" Arthur yelled, snapping your attention back. You pulled hard on the reins and brought the wagon to a stop with you and Sadie jerked back in your seats as it came to an abrupt halt. The horse leading the wagon gave a loud, startled winny. You looked over to see if she was okay and found her grabbing onto the seat behind her with a highly clenched grip, and yet, the grin didn't disappear. "Eyes on the road, quit your gagglin' up there!" Arthur called.

You wiped your eyes, still chuckling, and resumed your route. As the wagon climbed the hill and the trees lining the road became more dispersed, a few signs of human civilization came into view in the distance. Electricity lines went along the train tracks just ahead, leading anyone who may choose to follow them right to the Rhodes train station.

"Heya, what's this now?" Sadie asked, pointing at somewhere near the bottom of the page. "Return to Tacitus Kilgore?" "Oh, that!" It'd been a while since you heard one of those extravagant names. "Dutch has been using that for years. It's just the mail alias we have to use since, you know, we can't really use our real names. I guess Strauss goes to nearby towns when we first show up in a new place and gets everything set up."

By the time you finished your sentence, your group had made it to the edge of Rhodes. Boulders lined the main entry road, leading you passed a quaint little "welcome" sign. As you road further, you looked around at the pleasant southern elements that worked to create an endearing outwardly appearance for the town. There was a small courtyard with an old bell hanging on display in the center. There were dogs barking from the sides of the path as you passed a statue of probably some Civil War general that stood in the center of the settlement. Light winds blew between buildings, sending the copper-colored soil through the air. On the surface, everything seemed innocent and pleasant, yet there was some sinister aura about it all, like all the charming atmosphere was a cover up for a crooked history that was yet to fade away. It wasn't hard to guess what was happening on those plantations around the area some 40 years ago.

You slowed up as your parked the wagon at the side of the local general store. The building itself was built of green-colored planks and had advertisements painted all along the outside. 'Staple and Fancy Groceries' was written in big, golden letters on the side by where you parked.

"Here we are," you said before climbing out of the wagon. Sadie did the same, dropping to the ground and coming around the side of the wagon to meet you and Arthur. "So, what's the plan," she asked, pulling out a revolver, "I shoot the shopkeeper while she-." "No! Are you insane?!" Arthur whispered sternly while you quickly reached to lower the barrel of the revolver that Sadie was mock-aiming in front of herself. She look over at you confused, but lowered her aim.

"Why, I thought we was outlaws," she chuckled as she re-holstered her weapon. "Outlaws, not idiots," Arthur told her. You could tell he was already regretting taking her out for a ride, but you knew a small part of him admired the spunk Sadie was showing. "We rob fools who rob other people. These people, they're just tryin' a' get by," he explained. "You two just get in there and buy us some food so we don't all starve. Use this money," he said as he handed Sadie a small wad of cash, "not bullets."

"Are you sure?" Sadie asked, putting on a pouty face and resting her hand on her skirt-covered hip. "Please, I've had my fill of town shootouts for a while," you told your friend, giving her a light elbow to the arm. "There'll be time for killin' soon enough. Now, get in there. I'm gonna go check the mail," Arthur said, already taking steps back towards the post office, leaving the two of you with each other.

You both made your way over to the store's porch and walked inside. The shop was dimly lit with natural lighting from the windows that lined the walls. A balding shopkeeper wearing a thin brown sweater over a white undershirt stood at the register and greeted you as you entered. "How can I help you, ladies?" He asked, leaning on the counter with one arm.

Sadie read the list to him while you waited off to the side. While waiting, you allowed your mind to wander about. It found a place to settle on, being Sadie herself. You admired her outfit- a gold-colored vest over striped long sleeves and a navy blue skirt that went almost to her ankles. The V-neck on her vest went low, showing the small golden necklace that dangled in front of her chest.

You refocused when you heard the word "clothes," panic finding you as you worried your friend might have noticed you staring. Luckily, you were in the clear. "You sell clothes?" She'd asked the shopkeeper, who was now leaning over to look for the needed groceries in the cabinets below. "We do. Not the widest range of ladies fashion, I'm afraid," he said, looking up and glancing quickly over at you. You crossed your arms uncomfortably in front of you, trying to cover up your shirt to keep from embarrassment. "That's alright," Sadie said, "I'll look at everything you got." At this, you allowed yourself to relax a little bit.

"Of course," said the shopkeeper, "Miss...?" "It's Mrs," Sadie said swiftly, bringing back that same lonely, guilty feeling for a moment. "Mrs... Kilgore," she told him. "This is my sister, Mrs..." she was looking back to you now, pausing to let you fill in the blank. Caught off guard, you said, "Oh! Um... Gorekill? Mrs.Gorekill," you proclaimed, feeling sweat beading all throughout. You caught a look from Sadie, who was staring you dead in the eye, her lips curled inward in an amused smile, trying to hold back her laughter. The clerk, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice a thing.

"Well, how funny is that? You each married men with a similar name? What a crazy world we live in. Who knows, maybe they're distant cousins? I wouldn't be too surprised, in this town, that is," the clerk chuckled to himself. "Haha, yeah..." you said, giving him an uneasy laugh. Every time I think I've found the dumbest person in this town, somebody always surprises me.

"Alright, well, I'll go get you your groceries. And if you wanna try on our clothes, there's a changing room in back with our whole stock," he said, now searching the cabinets behind him. "Thank you, mister," Sadie said, walking towards the back. She nodded for you to follow her. When a good distance from the shopkeeper, she turned to you. "Mrs.Gorekill?" She whispered with a laugh. "Now I see why you said you was such a bad thief." You gave her a light punch in the arm. "Hey, I don't do a lot of this stuff," you tried to defend yourself. "What, shoppin'?" She giggled. "Just go get your damn clothes." Your friend smirked as she left to go to the changing room, leaving you to wait while leaning on the wall outside, running your eyes over the many different goods stocked on the shelves around you.

Minutes later, the door to the changing room opened. As Sadie stepped out from around the door, you could feel your breath hitch in your throat. On the top, she wore grey suspenders that attached to a leather belt over a long-sleeved, yellow button-up shirt. Below the belt line, she had a semi-tight fitting pair of black pants that tucked into boots and a weapons belt with her holster on her right hip. She topped her outfit off with a classic flop-brimmed hat with her golden hair showing underneath, cascading over the front of her shoulders.

You were speechless. She looked absolutely beautiful. The men's clothing, though one would think we be ill-fitting, perfectly contoured her curves in ways you were not expecting to notice. Your face heated up once more in that strange way you always struggled to put words to, but the words came easier this time. Were you... attracted to her? It wasn't possible. I mean, she's a woman. You're a woman. That's not how things work. This is just the natural way you had always looked at women, the same way any other woman would, right? But this was how it was always described, the way it sounded in those romance novels Mary-Beth liked to read. The flutters in the chest, the rapid heart beat, the blood flow to the head. It's because she's wearing men's clothes, you decided. It's just that. You'll get used to it in a few days, no big deal. Nevertheless, your eyes didn't want to look to anywhere else but her.

"Well, whaddya think?" Sadie was standing in front of you with her hands on her hips, one hip higher than the other in a pose you were finding distracting. "Yeah," you said, before immediately realizing what you did, "Oh! Yeah, it looks great!" Goddamnit.

"Well that's all I needed to hear. I'm gonna go buy these, can you go start puttin' the food in the wagon?" She asked. "Yep, I gotcha," you responded, trying to convey an easy tone, like nothing could bother you, like all was right, like you didn't just ogle at your friend the way that your other friends ogle over men in bars. You watched as your friend walked up to the counter, moving with a new type of confidence that fit her well.

You, Sadie, and the shopkeeper loaded the food in while waiting for Arthur. When everything was set, Sadie flipped the man a quarter. "Here, take that for yourself, okay?" The man looked at her for a second, appearing confused. "Thanks..." he said, his bald forehead wrinkling with judgement. "Well, give it back then! Jesus! I didn't ask for his goddamn help!" She grumbled, rolling her eyes. Through it all, you caught yourself stealing glances to your friend, and then feeling embarrassed for even wanting to look over.

Soon, Arthur had made his way back, providing you with some sort of distraction from your thoughts. "So... you two get everything?" "I think we did," you answered, glancing back into the vehicle, the back of which was completely full with boxes and bags of goods. "What's with the new clothes?" He asked, his brow furrowing as his eyes landed on Sadie.

"Maybe I got some inspiration," your friend gave a you a small wink, sending a shiver through your chest. "And besides, since I'm gonna be doin' some real work now, I figured I should look the part." Arthur shrugged. "I guess I can't argue with that."

Getting ready to go, you all climbed on to your respective mode of transportation to set off. "Here, how about you drive," you held the reins out to Sadie, worried that the mounting distractions may cause you to actually crash the vehicle this time. She took them from you, her hand gently grazing yours as you handed them over. Neither one of you addressed it, letting the small touch speak for itself.

Your group set off for home, leaving the small southern-feel town for the quiet countryside. Sunlight shown through the branches of the weeping elm trees, leaving a patchwork of shadows cast upon the road. The blinded eye would find brief relief as it moved into the shade, able to ease its strain and better take in its surroundings before being plunged back in to the brightness. In the middle of the path, vegetation was pushing through where wagon ruts wouldn't go, mother nature always finding a way to fight back against the work of man.

Not long into the journey back to camp, your group would find their travels interrupted. "Hey there," came a man's voice from the right. You turned to your side to find a man trotting along on his horse, dressed in a long coat, hat, and bandana with a repeater slung over his back. "Hey..." you replied, a feeling creeping over you that this may be exactly who you think they are. "What, uh... what're you folks up to?" he continued, riding his horse closer. "Minding our own business," you snapped back at him, tired of dealing with these fools. He paused, seemingly surprised at your assertiveness but coming back with a moxie of his own. "You're in Lemoyne Raider country," threatened the man. At this, Sadie flipped her head away from the road to stare down brigand. "You need to pay a toll to pass through here," he continued.

"That's not gonna happen," you warned, instinctively moving your hand slowly down towards your holster, but restraining yourself, wanting to keep this exchange as quiet as it could be. "Oh really? How about you pull over right now?" he growled. On the other hand, Sadie was done with negotiations. "Hey! How's about this!" A pistol crossed right in front of your face, the hand it was held in pulling the trigger without hesitation. The Lemoyne Raider went limp on his horse, slowly falling back as his muscles failed to support himself, his body dragging along as his foot stayed caught in the stirrup of his saddle as his horse fled the scene.

"Goddamnit! Get moving, now! I'll handle these guys!" Arthur called, shooting back at the other raider that had been riding up on the other side while your wagon raced along the path. "Sadie, what the Hell was that?!" you cried to her, "What were you thinking?" "They was gonna rob us!" she yelled back to you. You covered your face with your hands in frustration. "What if you missed? We could have both been dead!" you shouted, hearing a bullet whiz past your ear. She didn't hear you. There was a man in the middle of the road, waving his arms frantically for you to stop. She was too smart to fall for the trick. "I'm gonna run this son of a bitch down!" She hadn't even finished her battle cry before the man was dead on the ground behind you, his skull crushed by horse hooves and wagon wheels. He was far from the last of you problems.

You came to a fast stop before nearly colliding with a tree out in front. "There's more of 'em from behind!" Arthur yelled, jumping off his horse to find cover behind the wagon. Seeing as the vehicle wasn't going anywhere soon, you and Sadie both jumped out and joined him. Arthur was already taking down the rival gang as they advanced over the hill you came from, leaving you two to take on the newcomers from the left and right. "Well, you wanted to see some action, lady, now you got your wish!" Arthur called from the other side of the wagon. "Not the time!" you called back to him, meanwhile steadying yourself for the ensuing shootout. You've survived Valentine with barely more than a scratch, this'll be fine, you told yourself. Just do what your need to do.

You took aim at a man hiding behind a boulder. When he stepped out to take his shot, that's when you took yours, bringing him down in one. Another rode in on horseback, coming in to view as he came around the side of the boulder. He had his repeater raised and pointed in your direction, forcing you to dive behind the back side of your vehicle. Crouching, you quickly came out in to the open, sending two shots into the horseman, one from each revolver, sending him falling to the ground.

You heard more men coming from the right. Looking over, you found Sadie crouched behind a log for protection. She was firing wildly all over the place, sending seven shots off and finding her target with just one. Nevertheless, the woman was on a spree, firing, reloading, and firing again, taking each attacker down, one by one. You recognized the mania about her, the same that you'd felt during the fight in Valentine before being snapped out by a shot to the arm. Compared to her, though, that was merciful. She was firing with an animalistic look in her eye, sympathy a luxury she couldn't, and didn't wish, to afford. You wanted to offer her help, but in all honesty, she was doing more than fine on her own. "You alright?!" you called to her, despite knowing the answer. "Of course! You think I can't handle these fools?!" she yelled back, taking down another one running out of the trees, a savage smile upon her face.

Just then, a man with a shotgun came running out of the bushes. "Sadie, watch out!" you called out. She ducked down behind the log, her eyes following your aim. You sent a bullet into the man's arm, forcing him to drop the weapon, crying out in pain. "Ahhhhhhh!" The sound brought back that same, deep-rooted fear, except now you weren't manic enough to push it down. You held out the revolver but couldn't bring yourself to pull the trigger. Sadie looked to you with anticipation and concern, and upon realizing you weren't going to take the shot, she took it for herself, finishing him off. She looked back to you, panting, a pity in her eye that she hadn't afforded to even one of her victims. "Thank you."

Leaving you leaning against the back of the wagon, trying to steady out your breathing, Sadie jumped back in to action, firing at the remaining attackers. "Told ya I could shoot a gun, didn't I?" she yelled to Arthur. "I don't remember asking you to prove it!" he answered, shooting at those still left. Apparently these men at least had some brains to themselves, because as they saw their numbers dwindling to zero, the few still surviving ran for their lives, not looking back. Sadie stood up and stepped over the log, leaning forward as she hollered after them. "Yeah, you run, you goddamn cowards!"

Sadie and Arthur came to join you where you sat on the trunk, still breathing hard. "Haha, we showed them bastards!" laughed Sadie, wiping sweat from her brow. "Yeah, remind me not to get on your bad side," said Arthur. They each paused as they looked to you, noticing your continued disorientation despite the fight being at an end. Sadie's face fell upon noticing you. "Hey, you okay?" she asked softly. You couldn't bring yourself to meet her eye. "Yeah, I'm fine."

***** End of Chapter 4 *****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Yes, the chapters are getting longer each time but I want to make sure each chapter feels complete and not just have a full chapter of talking. If you have any feedback, please let me know because I want to make this story fun to read!
> 
> Before you go, if you wouldn't mind answering a couple questions for me, that would be awesome!  
> 1.) How did you find this story?  
> 2.) What scene has been your favorite?
> 
> That's all! Thank you so much, and have a great day! Don't forget to yee your best hah :)


	5. A Different Tune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the stress of your feelings and tasks begins to weigh down on you a little too hard, you find yourself looking for a change of pace.
> 
> This chapter is a little bit more toned back but I think you'll still enjoy it :) 
> 
> Also, I recommend you guys listen to 'Red River Valley' on the harmonica(you can find it on Youtube). I used it to help me with a certain scene, I think you guys will like the song.

"Yeah! Burn those bloody fields to the ground!" Flames erupted from within the bushes as another bottle crashed against the ground. "Woohoo! Would ya look at that!" Sean yelled, his Irish brogue carrying throughout the plantation. You took a lit match to the cloth of your own bottle, and with a great heave, chucked it as far as you could into the tobacco fields. As the smooth glass rolled off your finger tips, you watched it sore over the fields and disappear among the plants before hearing the sound of shattering glass as another explosion of light spouted from the field. Tobacco smoke was beginning to cloud the air, the vile smell reminding you of crowded city streets and saloons.

Sean and Arthur were sending up more Molotovs, starting fires in every patch their throws could reach. There were blazes all throughout the plantation. Even the barn was now coated in fire, its beams blackening and collapsing in on themselves by the second. Gunshots could be heard in the distance, and you could vaguely make out the shape of men running through the growing black cloud of smoke.

"We got us some company, look out!" Arthur hollered, sending his last cocktail up as he ran towards you and Sean. Taking that as your cue to flee, you quickly pivoted and started bolting in the other direction. "Aye, watch it!" You heard Sean from behind you. Up ahead you saw two men running down the path in your direction. Diving behind a crate and covering your head with your hands, you heard a frenzy of shots from behind as the Irishman took care of the attackers. With your heart thumping rapidly against your chest, you scrambled to your feet, revolvers now out and primed for action.

"We'll grab those horses there, to the left!" Sean called over his shoulder while he fired at the armed men pouring from their hiding places all around. Three brown horses were bucking and crying next to a nearby shed, their reins flying about as they reared in fear. They were spooked but they were close, and that was all that mattered.

Men with shotguns emerged from the large barn by the end of the tobacco fields. You tried to shoot at them with your pistols but they were too far, your weapons not covering the range. Peaking around the side of your crate, you noticed a wall of sandbags deeper into the unlit field, just tall enough to protect you. Taking a deep breath, you summoned all the courage and irrationality that you could muster and sprinted. You put your head down as you moved, focusing on nothing but the next step, feeling cool lashes of wind whip against you as bullets shot past. When close enough to the wall, you let your feet come out from underneath, sliding perfectly into a ready position, popping up, and taking down three of your enemies.

You looked back to find Arthur shooting at a man dressed in white coming out of the stables. You followed his aim with your eyes and watched as he hit his foe in the gut. The white clothing now turned to red as the man slunk down, clutching his stomach before falling forward to the ground, not getting back up. "This is a goddamn mess!" Arthur yelled. For the horses, that noise was the final straw. The terrified animals took off across the battlefield, flipping their manes as they sped through the gunfire. "Damnit it!"

"What are we going to do now?" You yelled, running back to where your friends were fighting off the remaining enemies. Sean didn't wait to give you an answer, his mind for once working faster than his mouth. Instead, he took off back towards the flames, which had now almost completely enveloped the entire tobacco field. "The wagon we saw earlier, we can nick the horses from there!" Sean yelled back. Not seeing any better way out, you ran after him with Arthur close behind.

Your group followed a path that cut through the burning fields, taking down more guards as they came rushing in. Winds were picking up the smoke cloud, now illuminated with fire, an orange glow about it that set a fitting backdrop for the festival of sparks rising up from the blazes. The smoke was getting thicker, feeling like a growing stone as it weighed down harder on your lungs with each inhale. The fences were following the barn's lead, charring and weakening before succumbing to the flames that ate away at their wooden flesh. As you ran through the fields, smaller flames jumped up from the ground which was wet with liquor, fueling the fires.

The three of you fought your way to the end of the fields where the cart sat waiting by the edge of the forest. Two strong shires were hooked up in the front, one black and one white. "Come on, we'll take these horses," hollered Arthur, taking his hunting knife from his satchel while you did the same. You cut the buckles and straps off the animals as fast as you could, careful not to hurt the creature and startle it. It cried a bit but didn't buck, allowing you to cut it free with relative ease.

"Oh boy! We did good, we did!" Sean whooped from the back of the wagon. You raised your head to see him stuffing large wads of cash from a box into his bag, a devilish smile upon his face. As you climbed up on to the horse's back, Sean clambered his way through the cart and over the seat, hopping onto the horse's back behind you. He lightly wrapped an arm around your waist while the other clutched his pistol. It was hard to not be acutely aware of his hold, feeling somewhat uncomfortable and awkward, even though you knew it was just to keep himself from being bucked off. Now isn't the time to worry about feeling comfortable, you had to tell yourself.

"Yeehaw!" Sean hollered, sending the animal into a fast gallop, following Arthur back towards the fields. "Let's get the Hell outta here!" Arthur yelled from up ahead. You both maneuvered your way through the fields, avoiding burning plants, crates, and wagons alike. You rode quickly, what little left of the tobacco plants passing by in a blur. Your eyes stung severely as the wind carried the smoke into your face, tears welling up naturally to combat the burning feeling. The flames had grown even stronger, a vicious infection spreading itself through the plantation with no signs of a cure. It felt as if you were galloping through a Renaissance painting, one in which the artist was attempting to recreate their near-death experience where they claimed to have visited Hell itself.

Your escape route took you towards the main grounds of the estate where more guardsmen stood at the ready. "I'll take care a' them!" said Sean, excited to exert more of his endless energy on the watchmen. You kept your focus on riding, forcing yourself to put faith in your red-headed friend, something that didn't always turn out to be a great idea. This time, the young man proved himself to be worthy of your confidence, subduing each guard that came running at you with a fury of shots. As you leaped over a hedge near the front of the grounds, Sean gave his final performance of the night, turning around and sinking his last bullets into the remaining men, quickly sending them to the same fate as the others. "Take that, ya dirty Grays!" he hollered.

As you hurried through the front gates, all the sounds behind you started to fade away as your distance between the grounds increased. Worries of being followed were out of mind. Any guardsmen left would have to worry about the growing inferno that was currently taking the property for its own. Still, you decided it was best not to look back as you rode back towards home.

******

Emerging through the trees, the camp came fully into view, still lit up and lively at the late hour. Some of the boys were gathered around the campfire, bottles of booze in one of each man's hand for him to finish all on his own. A couple of the ladies were there as well, and you could faintly make out the sound of their usual singing to Javier's guitar playing, easing your mind into a more comfortable place after the hectic job you'd just finished. Spirits appeared high tonight. As for the reason, you couldn't tell, but sometimes there never really was a reason. Sometimes a few good scores and the feeling of togetherness was all that the gang needed to feel satisfied. To feel for a night that they weren't criminals on the run from the law, but simply friends in each other's good company, nothing more or less than that.

You brought the big horse to a slow, and let out a long breath you hadn't known you were holding in. You winced as you coughed at the end of the exhale, your throat sore from the smoke that had taken the place of oxygen for the better half of the last hour. Gulping down the pain, you climbed off the horse and jumped to the ground, stumbling a bit as the dismounting height was a good deal farther than you were used to. Sean hopped off after, landing to your side while Arthur hitched up his steed for the night.

"Jesus!" Sean laughed with his usual toothy grin, "that turned into a right party!" Arthur shook his head as he took his hat off, then dusted some of the ashes off of it. "You call that a party?" He asked, one bushy eyebrow raised. "Yeah, last I checked, parties don't usually end with burning down somebody's property and killing half their family," you said to Sean, arms folded across your chest. His comments were unsurprising, though. He always did have a thirst for action, his adrenaline addiction possibly even surpassing that of his one for whiskey. "You musta ne'er been to a good party, then!" Sean leaned back as he laughed at his own joke, causing his hat to slip off his head. "Aye!" He quickly turned to snatch it off the ground and stuck it back down on his head with his characteristic charisma, though his eyes darted about to make sure nobody else saw.

Sean turned back to you and Arthur. "Well, if you two feel as if we 'avent got in enough partyin' for one night, why don't we throw a little party 'ere? Sure seems like everyone else is in the mood for one," Sean said through his smile again, a gleeful expression that commonly did more convincing than the actual words that came out of his mouth. "After all that?" Arthur questioned him, still with skepticism locked on his face.

"Yeah, why not? We deserve a little celebratin' after a job well done! An' besides, I could use a drink! Still got some shine leftover!" Sean wasn't going to give up. Whether you gave in or not wasn't going to matter; the Irishman would still end up blissfully wasted by the end of the night. "When are you not in the mood for a drink?" You asked rhetorically, giggling a bit, "But fine. Some good music sounds nice right about now." Sean thrust his fist in victory, giving a little whoop before scurrying off to the campfire. "I'll see you two over there! Or maybe not- might be too blurry to see a thing by the time you arrive!"

While Sean jogged up ahead, Arthur fell into step beside you, both of you moving at a casual pace towards the main bustle, rationing your remaining energy. "He's like an annoyin' little brother, ain't he?" Arthur laughed. "Tell me about it," you agreed, looking at your feet and kicking at the small pebbles imprisoned in the ground, causing some to be broken from their captivity and roll away down the camp's slope. "I've always liked having him around, though. Always felt like he could act any amount a fool and I'd still love him just the same." Arthur nodded. "Yeah, well, you'll always be my annoyin' little sister as well," he said before you punched him softly in the side.

You both reached the main part of camp, songs now pouring out from each direction. Sean had clearly put all the festivities in order. He'd already made himself comfortable at the fire, a moonshine jug in one hand and Karen in the other, sitting upon his lap. The two looked equally drunk and equally as joyful. They would bob along sloppily to whatever tune was being sung, and every once in a while meet each other's eye, staring at the other unapologetically, with smiles that looked stitched upon their faces. They looked happy. Like, truly happy. Was it so much to ask for something like that?

"Well, I'll catch you later then," Arthur said, patting you on the back. "Don't get into too much trouble, we've had enough of that for one night." "I'll try," you waved to him, watching as he walked back to his tent. You were left standing alone under the large oak tree that served as the camp's center. Its strong, sturdy trunk and vibrant green leaves were merely more than a silhouette now, with dim lamps from the tents giving the only light to the details of the wood. Its crevices intricately carved up the trunk all the way to the branches, an abstract maze of expertly designed grooves climbing their way up into the treetops.

You leaned yourself against the tree and tried to feel present, taking in your surroundings. Looking out in front of yourself, you quietly observed your friends as they went about their night. Molly and Dutch grabbed your attention, each with an arm around the other's back while clutching their partner's hands as they swayed to the music from the phonograph. They danced together in a carefree fashion, slowly rocking as if there was nothing else to think about, nothing that had to be done other than enjoy the moment. Molly's full red hair flowed over the front of her shoulders down between her and Dutch, their chests no more than a few inches apart. Their faces were close and relaxed, comfortable in their vicinity enough to stay that close without a feeling of anxiety or a fear of rejection.

You watched as Dutch spun around his partner, slowly and easily, the small movements of his hand and arm guiding her around in a circle, at the end of which she would meet him right where they started, except possibly a little closer. Again, you couldn't stop that longing feeling from building within your chest, making your thoughts to wander away and daydream. You shook your head, pushing your way out of the mind as it drew an ever-appealing image of a particular person. You decided it was best to just shake away the thoughts, but it was never that simple.

"Hey, how are you doing?" Came a calm voice from your side. You looked away from the grassy dance floor to find Charles settling himself against the tree beside you. "I heard you had one Hell of a night." You forced a small laugh, still trying to find a way to rid of the thoughts that plagued your resting mind. Friends always acted as a good distraction. Well, most friends did. "Yeah, it sure was something."

"Well, maybe you can tell me more about it," Charles gestured towards the mostly-clear space where Molly and Dutch were finishing up their dance as the song came to a close. You knew what he was asking, not particularly wanting to participate. At the same time, though, Charles was such a kind man, and a diversion of this sort felt like something you needed. Even if it didn't feel right.

You gave him a smile, taking his outstretched hand, big and calloused, faint indent marks from holding a bow visible in his palm. As the next song started up, he led you to a clear area near the phonograph, stopping to lightly bring his arm around your back while readjusting his other hand to fit more comfortably in yours. Nervous and relatively inexperienced, you tried to follow his lead. When you both felt comfortable, you started rocking together, first to the right, then the left, on beat to the music. The closeness made you somewhat uneasy. It wasn't usual for you to be this near to another person for a prolonged period of time.

"So, I've noticed you've been out on more jobs recently. How are you liking it?" Charles asked. You looked up to meet the tall man's soft, wondering eyes. "It's been good, I think. Definitely more... exciting," You paused. "But it can also be... somewhat disturbing, at times." Charles looked off and nodded, an expression on his face like he was thinking back to earlier days. "I understand what you mean. It gets easier as time goes on. You get used to it, as bleak as it sounds," he said. You gave a small "mm-hmm" in response, not wanting to continue on about the topic. Something told you that it wasn't going to get all too much easier.

"What about tonight? What was that all about?" your dance partner inquired. This topic was easier to talk about. Topics that angered you usually did. "Gosh, where do I even start?" you said, rolling your eyes. "We were doing some work for that awful Braithwaite lady," You stuck out your tongue in disgust. "That old hag thinks she's better than all of us just because she had a thousand children and lives in some fancy mansion paid for by old slave-money."

Charles gave a small laugh, but as his laughter disappeared, he was left with confusion. "The Braithwaites? I thought we were helping that other family, with the sheriff and all?" "Yeah, we are," you answered.

"What?"

"Yep, we're helping both families. Sounds risky, doesn't it?"

Charles waited before responding, looking pensive. "Sure doesn't seem like the safest move," he finally replied. "How did we even get caught up with both families, anyway?" Oh boy, you thought, sighing before beginning your story. "Well, I guess Dutch wanted to keep 'ingratiating us with the law,' so he took a group of us to help Sheriff Gray bust some moonshiners out in the swamps. They were Lemoyne Raiders, of course. Turns out that they were doing their shining for the Braithwaites." Charles had that same thinking look on his face, processing the information. "You still with me?" you asked, prompting a nod from the tall man.

"Good. Well, Hosea with all his cunning and charm thought it would be a good idea to try to sell the moonshine we stole back to the Braithwaites. You can imagine she wasn't all too pleased. She told him to go give it out for free as 'advertising' or something like that. I think Arthur mentioned they got into a scrap with some more Raiders at the bar. Anyway, Sean came to me saying that we were going to do some more work for the Braithwaites and they wanted me to help out, so that's what I did. We used more of that moonshine to douse the Gray's fields and then lit 'em up."

"That's a lot to keep up with," replied Charles, eyes a bit wide. You agreed. It was too much. "I know! And I wouldn't be surprised if all of our double crossings caught up with us. What happens then? We'll have an entire town of people against us!" Your dance partner stopped rocking, causing you to stumble slightly over your own feet. He moved his hands to your shoulders comfortingly, a subtle reminder to take a breath and calm down. "Hey, it'll be alright. Just try to put some faith in Dutch and Hosea, they've been doing these kinds of things for a long time. I haven't known them nearly as long as you, but I do believe they know what they're doing," he said. You looked to your side, still frustrated but calmer. "You're right," you sighed.

You each found your way back to the rhythm of the music, slowly swaying with each other. The lyrics of the song were in a foreign language. German, possibly. Despite not being able to comprehend the meaning of the words or even being able to distinguish one word from the other, you found the singer's voice to be quite pleasant. Her voice was high pitched and vibrato like an opera singer, creating a powerful force of sound each time the music reached a crescendo. The emotion in the words was apparent- strong and passionate, yet loving and sincere. It was amazing how music could convey so much to a person, even if the words were as good as gibberish to them.

"You know," started Charles, "if you're feeling tired of all the jobs, why don't you come hunting with me tomorrow? I know you haven't been out in a while." This piqued your interest. It had been a while since you'd shot at something that wasn't a person, as gruesome as it was. "Really?" you asked. "Of course. I found a good spot over by Flatneck Station. Lots of deer," he said. Getting to hunt somewhere outside of Lemoyne? How could you say no to that? "Sounds great, I'm in!" you told your friend, smiling with excitement.

The two of you didn't talk much more for the remainder of your dance. The music flowed on with its same gentle melody, giving your ears something to put their attention on. You continued to keep a good distance from your friend as you danced, not feeling comfortable with getting within a forearm's distance.

Charles was a great, tall man who wore his ancestry with pride. Your face was even with his chest where he donned a beautiful Native American necklace of cream, brown, and blue colored beads. Underneath his necklace rested his button-down shirt, also blue with small white spots spread across the fabric. He was a friendly, well-dressed, and honorable man, so why did it feel so wrong to be this close?

It felt like you just didn't fit together. His sides felt too boxy, his arms felt too large, his face seemed too covered in hair, but these attributes, you realized, he shared with almost any man. It wasn't him who was the exception, but instead, the standard. In that sense, that is. If this is how men are, then why do I feel so out of place? Is there something wrong with me? It was almost like something inside of you was broken, in need of repair so that you could feel the way you were supposed to. Your thoughts continued to spiral as the anxiety kept building upon itself. Each new question brought two new questions, all of which went unanswered, leaving you trapped in your own mind, wandering about in a place where nothing made sense.

Somewhere along the way, the anxieties became too much. Instead of trying to break free of your worries, you found that your mind had roamed over to the world of fantasization. You closed your eyes and let your thoughts take over. You were no longer dancing with Charles, but instead, a different person. This person felt different to the touch, less rectangular in shape but instead curvy, their hips more defined. Their hand clutched in yours felt smaller and softer, and their arm on your back was of a lighter touch, yet more intimate. This felt right. Whatever it was about it, your mind had led you here, imagining this, because this is what it wanted. You didn't dare open your eyes, not wanting to leave the sanctuary inside of your head.

You let yourself get closer to your dance partner, resting your head on her shoulder, pressing lightly against her small collarbone... Wait. Her shoulder. Her collarbone. Her. As in, a woman. The realization hit you like a speeding wagon. You flew open your eyelids, finding yourself resting against Charles. You could your face redden with embarrassment, somehow worried that your proximity to your friend somehow meant he could read your thoughts. Just stop! Stop thinking! Stop letting this happen, get a hold of yourself! You shook your head once more, mad at yourself. Mad that you once again let yourself indulge in something that wouldn't be. That couldn't be.

You pulled back to your original position, possibly a bit further away. Looking around to see if anyone else noticed, your eyes were met with a pair of another.

Sadie. She was leaning against her tent, arms crossed. Her body was facing away but her face was pointed towards you. Her eyes were pointed towards you. They looked somewhat solemn, though it was hard to see in the dark. After a long, lingering stare, Sadie looked down to her shoes and retired to her tent, not saying a word.

******

The scent of ripe leaves and lake was fresh on the wind, twisting lightly through the trees. You felt it blow softly against your face, causing small wisps of hair to escape your hair tie and blow towards your back. With one hand pressed against a tree to support yourself, the other grabbed the repeater off your back. You were sunk low to minimize your visibility.

You cocked the weapon which made a small clicking sound as it prepared to make its strike. At the noise, the buck took a break from chewing blades of grass to look up, searching for the source of the noise. Its ears twitched while it moved its head back and forth, its eyes on the sides of its face surveying the surroundings. You held your breath, trying to keep from any possible sound or movement that could scare the animal away. When it had deemed the area safe, the buck returned to munching on the grass along the lake shoreline.

You relaxed as the deer put its head back down, now putting your focus back on the target. You slowly exhaled, stabilizing yourself, and when you felt confident, took the shot. The buck fell to the ground immediately, no cries or any other motion. The bullet to its head had taken it out swiftly. It never even knew its life had ended.

"Good shot," Charles called from behind while you walked over to your kill. "Clean and quick, though I still prefer a bow." Your friend tapped the bowstring slung around his body.

"I never really got the hang of those," you replied, reaching down to pick up the buck. "Besides, beggars can't be choosers. I don't even own a gun of my own, other than those revolvers." Lifting the buck with both hands, you flung the heavy animal over your shoulder. Its weight bore down on you, causing you to tip slightly to your left side. You put an arm around the animal to keep it from falling off, and to keep yourself from falling over.

Charles nodded. "Yeah, you're right. And that Lancaster does look pretty nice. Maybe Javier will just give it to you if you ask him politely enough." You chuckled. "Yeah, right! He would never give up any of his precious guns," you joked.

Bringing your free hand to your mouth, you pinched your thumb and index finger together. Pushing your tongue up against your fingers and blowing, a high-pitched whistle escaped your windpipes. At the whistle, the sound of hooves against the ground could be heard back through the trees. The sound got louder and louder until a beautiful grey-dappled horse emerged from the forested area. It slowed to a trot and stopped just a few feet from you.

Going around to the back of the horse, you slid the deer off your shoulder onto its back to stow behind the saddle. Using rope from the saddlebag, you tied the kill onto the horse to keep it secured. Once the buck was fastened, you moved up towards the front of the horse next to its face. "That's a good girl, Kady," You cooed, patting her neck. She flicked her mane lightly in response, her little way of saying thank you.

When Charles's horse arrived and you had both mounted up, you started your trek back towards camp. The horses moved along the shore at a slow, comfortable pace, having no need or want to rush back to camp.

"I think we got a good supply today. These deer should feed a good amount of people," Charles remarked as you went, glancing back at the carcasses on each of your horses. "Well, we wouldn't have found them without your tracking skills. Mine sure are a bit rusty these days," you laughed, scratching the back of your neck. Charles chuckled a bit. "That's alright, you'll get it back.... Hey, stop up here a second," he said, peeling away from you away from the shore. Up the hill, you noticed a small homestead in a spot where the trees were thinned out.

"Why?" You asked, following him and dismounting once you had reached the house's outer fence. The home looked more like a camp than actual lodging. Chickens ran about around a small, charred up fire pit, plucking small bugs out of the blackened earth. To the right of the house was a shabby pig pen concealing five pigs rolling around in the mud, a couple of them getting up and squealing as you approached. It appeared that at one point there had been a sixth pig, though it now hung from a wooden beam by its feet on the other side of the house, without his former friends.

"Looks like nobody's here and I'm in need of some more ammo," Charles replied, "Used up a lot helping save Trelawny from some bounty hunters. Whoever lives here is probably fine giving up a few bullets." "He got caught again? He's going to have to be more careful or one of these times is going to be last," you said, shaking your head as you walked past the chicken coop. It looked to be almost as large as the house itself. "You could say that about any of us," remarked Charles. He opened the door cautiously and you both crept inside, weapons raised in case the coast wasn't as clear as you thought. Thankfully, it was.

The inside was small, just a one-roomed shack. As you each entered, Charles had to duck his head to not hit the lantern that hung from the ceiling. Pots and pans dangled on the wall next to a makeshift shelf supporting a can of coffee and some books. A compact kitchen area sat at the far end of the room by a single bed.

"I'll check the cupboards while you search that cabinet behind the door," Charles said. You peered around the door to find a simple, wooden cabinet littered with cans, bottles, and small boxes messily thrown about the place. You picked up each container, looking for something useful. Unfortunately, each item you grabbed was somewhere between half-full or empty. When you had searched your way back to the corners of each shelf, going all the way down to the bottom, you stood up and put your hands on your hips in defeat, sighing. "Nothing useful over here."

"Same, just a couple cans of vegetables. Might as well just leave it for them. We should probably get back, though, before whoever lives here catches us," responded Charles, already moving towards the door. "Yeah," you said, looking back to give the cabinet one last glance over.

Somehow you'd missed it the first time, but sitting there on the second to the highest shelf was a harmonica, red and shiny. It felt like the lantern above your head had lit up, excitement filling you as an idea sparked in your mind. You grabbed the instrument and stuck it into your pocket. "Alright, let's go."

******

The sun was making its way past the horizon by the time you and Charles had got back to camp. With the horses hitched and the deer now over with Pearson, a day's work had come to an end. Now was the time for relaxing, spending the evening doing as one pleased, resting themselves up for the day that followed. For you, this meant spending time with someone. Someone in particular.

When you and Charles had said your goodbyes for the day, you swept your gaze across camp, looking for honey hair falling over the shoulders of a yellow button-up. You spotted her quickly, finding her cleaning a repeater at the table. She wasn't too difficult to find. After all, your eyes had plenty of experience strolling off and finding her all on their own, even when you weren't trying.

As you approached your friend, you willed your nerves to calm, to stop sending flutters through your chest.

"Hey, Sadie," you said, looking down at her, hands resting in your pockets. Hearing your voice, Sadie looked up almost immediately, a grin already upon her face before she had even looked up to see yours. "Hey," she greeted you through her smile while sending one last wipe over the barrel of her gun. "What're you up to?"

You took a small, nervous gulp before answering. "Well... I remembered you saying that you always loved playing the harmonica. I found this when Charles and I were out today, and I thought of you." You brought your hand back from your pocket and held out the harmonica for Sadie to see.

Her smile widened when she saw the instrument in your hands. She looked up to meet your eyes once more, as if asking if she could take it. You gave her a grin and nodded, letting her know it was okay. She set her repeater to her side and reached out for the harmonica. As she grabbed it from your hand, her fingers slowly grazed your palm, making your hand feel like it was tingling with glee.

You watched your friend as she looked down at the instrument between her hands, turning it over and running a fingertip along the chambers in the side. "You brought this back for me? This is real kind of you!" she remarked. "Real kind." She looked surprised and joyful, like a child on their birthday. But as she kept staring, that look slowly faded until her smile fell off her face. You noticed her take a small swallow.

"Is everything alright?" You asked upon noticing her shift in mood. Shit, did I do something wrong? Damn it. Sadie blinked quickly and shook her head, looking off to her side. "Yeah, I'm okay," she answered. "It's just, this reminds me of him, my husband. He was the only audience I ever had."

Disappointment washed over you, a cool splash dowsing the excited fire burning inside. You looked down at your boots to avoid your friend's eyes, knowing her sad expression would only make you feel worse. "I understand." Now you felt awkward. You just gave your best friend a gift that reminded her of her dead lover. Way to go.

Trying to navigate the silence, you brought your gaze back up and looked around camp, attempting to appear as if you had something else you had to get to. "Well, I guess I'll, uh, let you go play your harmonica. Hope you like it," you told your friend, moving to walk back to your tent.

As you turned to go, you felt a small tug on your sleeve. Looking back, you found your friend's hand clutched around your left shirt cuff. When she'd seen that you turned back to her, Sadie quickly let go and brought her hand back to her lap. "I ain't ever played for anyone other than my husband," she started, "but if you'd like... I'm willing to make an exception."

That fire inside came back stronger than before, heating your whole body. "Yes, of course! I would love to hear you play!" Sadie chuckled. "Well, alright then, come on." She grabbed her gun with her free hand and slung it over her shoulder in a smooth fashion that made your breathing stop for a split second.

Sadie led the both of you over towards the lake's shore, finding a place to sit on a boulder right next to the water's edge. "This should do just fine," she noted, climbing up onto the large rock. When your friend had found a comfortable spot to sit in, she turned to you and held out her hand to help you up. You took it as you climbed beside her, enjoying the short-lasting feeling of your hand entwined with hers. The spot you took was no more than a few inches from her, your shoulders bumping a few times as you got set.

When you each had found your place on the rock, Sadie brought the harmonica up in front of her face. She paused, taking a deep breath while looking out over the water. After a moment, she brought the instrument to her lips and began playing.

It was beautiful. The air being blown through the harmonica created a series of long, shrill hums to the sound of a relaxed and tranquil tune. With each peaceful cord, you felt any troubles you may have trickling away, down over the rock and past the shore into the water where they were swept up and carried farther into the lake. Accompanied by the diverse pallet of colors painted across the sky, the melody sent you to a place where little mattered. It was just Sadie, the music, and you.

Leaning forward with your elbows on your knees, you tore your eyes from the landscape to look up at your friend. She was just as beautiful as she always was, the glow of sunset hitting the contours of her face in a way that was nothing short of perfect. You watched as her hands moved from side to side over her lips, breathing into the instrument to make the sounds. From time to time, she would flap her right hand repeatedly against the harmonica, making the chord play in a trill sort of fashion. Her shoulders moved along with her hands as well, the yellow fabric of her shirt rising and falling, tightening to her body before falling lose again.

Her eyes were closed while she focused on her playing, better revealing the thin layer of eyeshadow she had set on her eyelids. For a moment, Sadie opened her eyes and looked over at you, catching you staring. Heat rose to your face, yet you didn't look away. Didn't feel like she wanted you to. You just smiled at her, encouraging her to keep playing until the song came to a close.

When Sadie had finished playing her tune, she pulled the harmonica away and took a breath. You noticed she kept one hand to her face for a second longer, wiping away a single tear that had fallen partway down her cheek.

She turned to you, breathing somewhat hard. "Well... what did you think?" she asked, a small smirk upon her face. The golden sunlight shined through her hair, lighting it up and outlining each strand. "That was... amazing," you replied, unable to come up with a word to encompass how the moment had made you feel. "That's what I figured you'd say," said Sadie with the same smirk as before, though her cheeks appeared of more color than previously.

A long moment passed as you both sat there, side by side, no words feeling necessary. The sound of small waves lapping up over the pebbles at the shore filled the silence as each of you stared at the other. You felt an urge to get closer, to feel that contact that made you feel that strange blend of anxious yet overjoyed. You weren't particularly inclined to fight the urge, either. Now, there weren't many voices in your head telling you no. Sitting up, you scooted closer and leaned to your side, resting your head upon her shoulder. If Sadie was surprised then she didn't show it, putting up no resistance as you leaned against her. This was what felt right. And this time, it was real.

No more than a minute had passed before the heavenly moment had to come to an end. A yell had come from back towards camp, forcing you to sit up and spin around, nearly falling off the boulder. The words you heard made all feelings of happiness not trickle, but instead cascade, down into the waters of Flatiron, sinking to the depths of its deepest point.

"It's Arthur! They got Arthur!"

*** End of Chapter 5 ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for reading! This story recently surpassed 500 reads on ao3, and has almost reached 300 reads over on Wattpad! That's crazy! Thank you so much! 
> 
> I do like interacting with people who read my work, so leave a comment if you like, I want to know what you guys think!
> 
> Last thing, if any of you can guess where the name of the horse came from, I will be VERY impressed. Alright, that's all for now! I hope you've enjoyed and are excited for when chapter 6 comes out. Stay safe and don't forget to yee your best haw!


	6. The First Slippings of Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur’s capture was weighing down on you, making it hard to go from one day to the next. Sadie approaches you with an idea to help get your mind off of everything.

"What the Hell happened? Where's Arthur?" You elbowed your way through the crowd of men surrounding Dutch, demanding an explanation for the shouts you had heard carrying through camp. In one hand, the gang leader was grabbing his chin in attempted concentration while his other held a freshly-lit cigar. His hair was unusually unkept and there were small tears in various spots throughout his coat. Micah stood to his side, looking oddly spruce in comparison.

Dutch looked slightly startled upon seeing you rush past the boys, pushing Bill and Javier's arms out of the way without too much of a struggle. He sighed. "We was set up," Dutch started to explain, "they took Arthur when we wasn't lookin'." His voice sounded out of breath.

"Who," you pleaded, "who took him?" The anticipation was killing you, fear for your friend sending shivers through your body.

Dutch's lips curled inwards in a frustrated scowl before answering while he pinched the space between his eyebrows. "The O'Driscolls," he answered finally. Whatever reply you were hoping for, it definitely wasn't that. The gang with the longest history of rivalry. The gang with the biggest vendetta against your own. The gang with the most reasons to murder Arthur and not think twice about it.

"Pearson had ran into a few a' them in Scarlett Meadows. Said they wanted to 'parley'," Micah joined in. "It seemed like the best option. Until they started shootin' at us-" Micah was cut off by your finger poking him hard in the chest. "THE BEST OPTION?! What were you thinking?! How could you not see it was an obvious trap?"

Micah took a step back, laughing as he stroked his long, blonde mustache before stepping forward again, looming over you aggressively. "Why you little-" "Micah!" Dutch stopped him with his arm, keeping him from doing something that he probably wouldn't have actually regretted. "Why don't you take Mr.Williamson and Mr.Escuella over to the horses to get readied up? We got a man to go find."

Micah looked as if he wanted to argue, but apparently decided against it. With a flare of his nostrils, he slowly sauntered away over to the hitching posts, Bill and Javier following behind him. 

Dutch leaned himself against the center post of his tent and took a long drag of his cigar. As he exhaled, the worry on his face left with the smoke, rising into the air before dispersing and disappearing. 

"Are you not going with them?" you questioned him, still full of anger and confusion. "Isn't this your responsibility?" Once again, Dutch looked taken aback for a second. In all honesty, you were too. To speak to the leader that you had admired for all these years felt like betrayal in a way. At the same time, it felt just as much of a betrayal to Arthur by not saying anything at all.

Dutch stood up straight and stepped away from the tent. He held the cigar a few inches away from his face as he spoke. "My girl, I need to stay here and keep everything in order. Keep everyone safe," he tried to explain himself. "We have three men out looking for him and I have no doubt in my mind that they'll find him. All I'm asking for is a little faith." He rested his free hand firmly on your shoulder, trying to instill reassurance. It didn't work. 

Sure, Dutch had made some mistakes in the past, same as any other man. Waltzing headfirst into a trap and getting somebody caught in the process, though- that was a whole other story. Arthur was captured. The man who had been like an older brother to you when you needed one most, was captured. And what was Dutch doing? Smoking a cigar.

You stared the tall, dark haired man right in the eye, your voice barely more than a whisper. "How could you let this happen?"

The man returned the stare, his hand clamping harder on to your shoulder. He spoke slowly, ensuring you could comprehend each word he uttered. "I was doing what I believed to be right. Maybe you'll understand someday." With that, he took his last puff before dropping the remains of the cigar to the ground, stamping them out with his heel before walking away.

******

You threw open the flap to your tent. That same feeling of rage hadn't yet left, the urge to confront those you believed to have done wrong filling you up. That desire would go unsatisfied as the only things standing on the other side of the tent's entrance were a bedroll, a chest, and some clothes. Your frustrations wouldn't matter to them. 

Your aggravation began to dull into sorrowful distress. Sitting yourself down onto the floor of the space, you rested your elbows upon your knees and placed your head between your arms, face pointed towards the grassy flooring. What if he's already dead? What if he's really gone? If he's really gone then I wouldn't know what to do. I don't think I could handle it. Why did this have to happen? How could Dutch let this happen? Your thoughts continued to spiral out of control, gaining enough momentum to take control of your arm, bringing your fist down swiftly to the earth beneath you. When your knuckles collided with the hard ground, the impact made pain swell up your arm and down to your finger tips. Regretting your outburst, you brought your hand back up, trying to shake away the ache.

Just then, a small patch of light spread itself over the ground as the flap to your tent opened up, revealing Sadie as she came through the entrance. In all the commotion, you had almost forgotten the beautifully serene moment that you and her had shared. It was amazing, the most at ease your mind had been in weeks. It was a shame that the moment couldn't have lasted longer than it did. 

"Hey... you alright? I heard some a' the yellin'. Did somethin' happen to Arthur?" She asked. As habit would predict, your friend moved herself down to the floor to sit near you, just as she would do any other night. "I'm... fine," you responded, taking a deep sigh between the words to steady your voice. 

"Just worked up is all. As for Arthur, well..." you trailed off, hesitating. Should you tell her? If it was hard enough for you to handle then there was no telling how she'd react. "There was a parley set up with another group. Things went wrong. Arthur got captured..." you started, hoping that answer would satisfy either her worry or curiosity, whichever was asking. Her eyes looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to finish the sentence. So finish it you did. 

"...by the O'Driscolls."

Sadie's face went still, settling into an expression of shock before morphing slowly into absolute fury. "The O'Driscolls?!" She yelled. "Dutch agreed to parley with those pigfuckers?!" She was already moving herself back to her feet. 

"Where is that son-of-a-bitch, Van der Linde? I'll shoot him square in the chest, since apparently those dumb bastards couldn't do it themselves-" "Sadie wait!" You yelled for her before she could leave. Though you didn't think she meant what she'd said, there was no telling what the widow would do if she left the tent right then.

Your friend turned back to you, her eyes still ablaze. "I already tried talking to him but nothing got through. It's not worth it," you tried to reason with her. She looked unconvinced but stayed rooted to the spot.

Sadie turned to face you fully. "Those bastards murdered my husband and that fool wanted to make peace with them? They should all be six feet under by now, as far as I'm concerned." "I agree," you tried to appeal to her, "Just, please stay here. I need someone to be around right now."

Your friend looked up with a frown before returning to her spot on the floor by you. "Fine. But if Dutch turns up dead tomorrow you better not sell me out," she joked with an edge of exasperation. "Thank you," you replied.

A quiet moment passed as you continued to stare at the ground out in front of you. Sadie could apparently tell what you were thinking. "You worried 'bout him?" She asked, a tone much more mellow than seconds before. "Yeah," was all that you grumbled. "Try not to be," Sadie tried to provide comfort. "I know it's hard, but he's a tough guy. He'll be okay."

"I'll try to believe that," you muttered, giving a small laugh. "It's just difficult, you know. Arthur's like a brother to me. If I lost him, I... I don't know what I'd do. I don't know if I could handle it." Sadie sat silent for a second. "I know the feeling," you heard her whisper, though it was almost inaudible. 

Clearly wanting to change the subject, Sadie looked back up to face you. "How'd you two get so close, anyway?" The shift in conversation was a welcome one. Sure, you would still be thinking about Arthur, but focusing on the past was still one way to distract from the problems of the present. As long as it didn't go to far back.

"Oh, yeah," you started, digging the memories back up. "Well, when I first joined he wasn't all too friendly. I suppose he thought I was just some little charity case that Dutch and Hosea has picked up. At the time, I suppose I was. Mostly did a bunch of laundry and other chores at first to 'earn my keep' you could say, though I got real sick of it." "Ha, I get that," Sadie chuckled, making you laugh along with her. "Boy, do I know."

"Anyway," you continued, "I think Hosea could tell that I was getting fed up with the 'lady chores', so against every wish in Grimshaw's bones, he taught me to hunt instead," you laughed. "At first it was just us two, but then Hosea started dragging Arthur along with us. Hosea said he wanted me to have someone I felt I could trust to go with in case something happened to him. Nothing bad came of him, thankfully, but he did up and leave for some time with a lady named Bessie. That meant it was up to Arthur to keep teaching me. I bet I was a bit annoying to him, being so much younger and all, but over time we both realized that we weren't too different from one another. I can remember this one time," you thought back, "The horse I was borrowing that day was extra skittish, constantly bucking around at the slightest damn rustle of leaves. I remember Arthur was looking around with his binoculars or something when I heard a growl from behind me. Before I could even turn to see where it came from, I was already hitting the ground. I flipped over and looked up to see this huge cougar no more than a few feet away. It pounced and I swear I felt a breeze from the swipe of its claws. Just before it could get to me, Arthur had shot it over and over and over again until it went limp. First thing I did was look back up at him, and I don't think I've ever seen him so relieved."

"Damn!" Sadie giggled, "bet you didn't use that horse too much more after that!" "Never again," you chuckled. "But I think that was the day I really felt like I had a new brother. That I wasn't just some stray kid seeking refuge with a bunch of criminals. For the record," you added, "if that were to happen today, that cougar wouldn't have even stood a chance," you declared, giving a small wink, feeling better now.

A light pink hue rose in your friend's cheeks. "I wouldn't expect anything less," she laughed. She sure had an odd knack for being able to take your mind off almost anything. Anything, that is, except of course Sadie herself.

******

The days that followed were long and draining, the coming of each morning bringing with it the question of whether or not you could make it to the next. You kept hoping you'd wake up to find Arthur back home and well, but each time you were disappointed. As time went on, you noticed yourself slowly sinking into acceptance of your friend not ever coming back, his soul being beyond this world and unable to come back to you. Acceptance may not have been the right word for it, as you could tell your journey through the stages of grief was only just beginning. In spite of that, the path of denial was disappearing farther beyond the horizon behind you.

Your time was mainly spent out of camp, hunting in the surrounding meadows. It was the best way to clear your mind, to try to get it off its growing list of worries. At the end of each day, though, you'd still end up right where you started, and there was nothing to serve as a distraction as you would close your eyes and wait for sleep to come.

Nobody was handling Arthur's disappearance well. The men hadn't come back with anything yet and Dutch hadn't taken it upon himself to help out. There was a glum aura about the gang, the impact of their friend's disappearance felt with full force.

Sadie, as per usual, felt that impact in a bit of a different way. Sure, she felt for him and sympathized with you, but Arthur wasn't her main concern. The O'Driscolls were. She was noticeably angrier, and, like you, spent much of her time away. One could only guess what she was getting herself into.

On the fifth day since Arthur had been captured, life's pressures were becoming too much. Anxiety had adapted, finding ways to slip inside even in the presence of distractions on the outside. Your friend's offer of something new couldn't have come at a better time.

It was morning time, fresh sunlight piercing through the leaves of the large tree in camp's center. While getting ready to go, you had paused to sit down at a table. There was no purpose to sitting there. Your boots were already on and your breakfast was already eaten. You were just... tired. Sure, you hadn't been sleeping well, but this was different. The thought of going and doing the same thing for yet another day while Arthur likely laid dead in the ground somewhere was getting to be unbearable.

"Where're you off to this mornin'" said a voice from behind, interrupting your solemn thoughts. You turned around in your seat to find Sadie scooting herself up on to the table, a cool aura about her and a small smirk upon her face. "Hey. I was just going to head over to the ponds up near Rhodes to try and find some game. I'm surprised you're still here," you confessed, "Aren't you usually gone by now?" Sadie's smirk grew wider as you ended your statement, a mischievous spark in her eye.

"Well, I couldn't leave without grabbin' you to come along with me," she stated as though it were obvious. Her vagueness was somewhat troubling yet, at the same time, there was something alluring about it. "Come on, let's go." Before you could ask any questions, Sadie had already hopped back to the ground and was on her way to the horses, forcing you to get up and follow. What is she talking about?

When you caught up with your friend, you let your curiosity bubble up. "Where are we going? What are we doing?" You questioned her. "You'll find out," she replied, unhitching her horse from the post. "Sadie," you insisted.

Your friend gave a small sigh, though the look on her face made it appear that she herself was struggling to withhold the information. She turned to face you, her horse's reins grasped lightly in one hand. "We're headed over by Dewberry Creek," she smiled. 

You just blinked, confused as to how this could be such a huge event. "Okay... but why?"

"We're gonna rob us some O'Driscolls!"

"What?! Why?! Do you even know how to rob someone?" You questioned her, shocked at what you were hearing. This was certainly not where you were expecting your morning to be going.

"Why not?" She answered, "I wanna give these bastards what they deserve, and I know you ain't like just sittin' around here doin' nothin'! Come on, it'll be fun!" persuaded Sadie, her head tilted slightly to the side. Her hair was in a braid today, a part of which was resting over the front of her shoulder.

"Yeah but what's the plan? How do you even know these guys will be over by Dewberry?" you continued to interrogate your friend, not thoroughly convinced yet. This was a lot to process for your weary mind. "I got a lead off the barkeeper there in Rhodes," she explained, "Said there was a small group 'a Irish low-lives talkin' about needin' to get supplies up to New Hanover. Well, apparently they was sayin' that before they all got drunk and started a fight. From the sound of it, those boys wouldn't'a made the delivery that night, so my best guess is we still got some time before they cross over the state border." Well, you thought, it certainly sounds like them. That's at least something.

There was still one thing she hadn't answered. "Sadie. How are we going to do this?" Your friend was a little slower to give a solution for this question. Still, the smirk that reappeared made it obvious that she was happy with the conclusion she came to. "How's this?" She started, "When we see 'em comin' down the road, you step out there and tell 'em your horse bucked you and bolted. Then, while they're distracted, I'll sneak up an' take everythin' I can."

"Woah woah woah, I don't know how to do any of that acting stuff, first off, and second..." you trailed off as your mind quickly lost its train of thought at the sight of your friend. Though her face was solid as always with confidence, Sadie's eyes were full of pleading. Even her horse was hanging it's head in a way that reminded you of a begging dog. Damn, she's good.

You sighed. "Fine, let's go."

******

The ride to Dewberry Creek was smooth and pleasant, no Lemoyne Raiders encountered along the way. Your horse, Kady, ran steadily through the roads with seemingly little effort. She wasn't the fastest horse in the world, but she didn't slow her pace for even a second the whole ride.

You watched as Sadie road a few meters up ahead of you, her braid flying behind her as she went, waving up and down with the beat of her horse's gallop. Her braiding skills were impressive, you thought, her hair organized into a such a neat pattern. You found yourself wishing you could braid like she could, despite the fact that not once in the past had you ever had interest in the skill.

The two of you found a spot to stake out on the eastern side of the dried up creek. The spot was a small wooded area on the side of a hill- not the best cover, but sufficient for concealing you against a few hungover O'Driscolls. Upon dismounting, you and Sadie leaned yourself up against a tree and waited for the sound of wooden wheels.

Sure enough, just as Sadie thought, a small group of shabby-looking men dressed in black coats and hats became visible through the trees. There were three men on horseback riding to the sides of an old wagon working its way up the hill. The men were hunched over on their respective mounts, like a sore old man after a long day.

Before you started to put the plan into action, you looked back at Sadie. "If anythin' goes wrong, just start shootin'" she offered as advice. "Right back at ya," you told her, giving her one last nod and grin before taking a deep breath and going to get in position.

When the wagon had just reached the peak of the hill, you quickly moved out of the shaded cover of the trees out into the open. Right there, for all of the O'Driscolls to see. No gun in hand. Just your acting skills to protect you from a bullet to the skull. How crazy was I to agree to this?

Trying to make it appear as if you truly were in turmoil, you made yourself breathe fast and hard. With anxiety growing within you, the hard breathing started to feel more and more real as the O'Driscolls drew closer. "Uh... mister!" You started, waving a hand at the group passing by. "Mister, would you stop for a second? Please? I could use some help!"

The driver eyed you with weary look as he approached, though you did see him pull on the reins to slow down. Alright, well, I've survived not getting trampled to death. I guess we got that going for us. Now that the man was closer, you could make out the dark markings around his left eye resting just above his messy handlebar mustache. His eyes were droopy and dull, somewhat reminding you of the man from the Valentine Saloon. You quickly shook the thought away.

"What you want?" demanded one of the horseback riders. This one looked younger, a new recruit possibly. He was bruised up just like his comrades but, unlike them, sat a little taller, his head tilted up to show the dark stubble on his chin. It was a shame that a young man like him with a fair enough build to make good money from honest work got caught up with a group like the O'Driscolls. The words of their leader, Colm, were not known for their ability to inspire, but it could be supposed that the minds of the young and naive were more easily malleable. Either that or he had come out of the womb with corruption in his heart, destined to fall prey to the life he now lived.

You continued on with your show. "Mister, my horse just died," you told the young man, "just fell over right there with me on top. I-I don't know what I'm gonna do!" As you went on with your sob story, dragging it out far longer than would be necessary, you glimpsed another person out of the corner of your vision. Sadie crept out of the shadows of the forest, appearing just to the right of the wagon's rear and disappearing behind it. She just need to grab some supplies and go. This will be over soon, thank God.

"Lady, lady, that's enough!" Called one of the other riders, walking his horse up in front of the wagon with his two friends. "But..." he continued, a venomous look forming upon his face, giving a full and menacing leer, "I think we can help you out." "Oh, really?" You inquired with exaggerated naiveté, knowing full well what was running through the man's mind. 

"Yeah, how 'bout you come along with us? We'll take you where ya need to go." He flashed a knowing smirk to his saddled companions with that same malicious twinkle. Though disturbed, you were far from surprised. Figures that a bunch of vulgar men like these would see a poor, lost woman as nothing more than an object to take advantage of.

Trying hard to keep up the act, you gave a fool's answer. Or, started to give one. "That sounds..." you trailed off as your mind found something much, much more important to place its attention on than a dramatis personae. Looking between the heads of the men on horseback up to the seat of the wagon, Sadie stood crouched next to the driver, her revolver pressed against his temple. The man's face was shiny with sweat and his eyes far more alert. Neither him nor Sadie murdered a sound. What in the Hell?

"...fine," you finished your sentence after a long, lingering space. Bringing your focus back, you watched as the three men started to follow your gaze, slowly looking back over their shoulder- "Ah!" You cried, thinking quickly. To match your cry in pain, you hunched yourself and winced, reaching down towards your right leg while condensing your weight on your left. The men all turned back to you before they could find the scene behind them.

"It's my ankle! I think I sprained it on the fall. D-did I mention that?" Your theatre skills were starting to dwindle. The pressure was building. Now, a slip up didn't just mean you'd look like a crazy person. A slip up meant three bullets flying directly into your friend, losing yet another person dear to your heart in less than a week. Your face was beginning to glisten over the same as the man in Sadie's captivity. "Do you boys think you could help me get to the wagon?"

Before dismounting, the men all glanced at each other and you could swear you almost had a heart attack. Thankfully, they didn't have the sense to turn their head just a little bit more, meaning you were in the clear. For now, that is. They each shrugged at each other and two men clambered off their horse to the ground.

Letting them approach you without putting up a fight felt like it would make your bones crumble. Tensing up, readying yourself to feel their arms around your shoulders, you squinted one eye in anticipation, but the touch never came. You reopened both eyes to find the men staring confusedly behind. Sadie continued to hold her victim at gunpoint, silently, in the background.

"Hey," remarked one of the men, pointing somewhere into the trees, "who's horse is that? Is that yours?" You turned your head to find Kady poking herself out of the woods, apparently curious as to why the Hell it was taking so long. "Oh, um, yep! Look at that! Her leg's all better now!" You tried to laugh it off turning back to the O'Driscolls. Shit, I forgot to hitch her to the tree! 

"Didn't you say your horse died?" You felt your blood turn to steam.

"Uhhhh..."

BANG! The driver fell to the ground as a now-blood soaked Sadie whipped the reins down hard. "Let's go!" she yelled. "We're bein' robbed!" Called an O'Driscoll, reaching down for his weapon.

Before any guns could be drawn, the horses were almost right on top of you. As the hooves of the big work horses came crashing down, you and the other three dove to the sides, barely escaping the crushing blow of the powerful animals. 

Getting to your feet as fast as you could, you didn't waste any time grabbing your revolver. Instead, you quickly ran and jumped up on to side of the wagon, finding the only place for your feet on the narrow trimming of wood above the wheels. "Hold on!" Sadie yelled, now pointing her revolver behind herself. 

Looking back, the men were already chasing after you, on horse and foot. Two ran on your side of the wagon, arms outstretched with guns held in hand. You pressed yourself as hard as you could against the outside of the wagon's wall, begging the shots to miss. You felt the bullets tear your shirt and graze your back, but were otherwise unharmed. 

For a second, the shots came to a stop. In the small window of time the men used to reload, you took your chance. With one hand grasped firmly around the vehicle's side, you held out your golden revolver in the other and fired away. You managed to down the one bastard chasing you on foot, watching him fall to the ground followed by his body being trampled by his friend behind him.

It was the younger man on horseback, and he didn't even look back. There was a flame burning from inside him, similar to the one you observed in Sadie. Hers, as far as you could tell, was founded on a passion. His, on the other hand, was only rage. A burst of hatred towards those who got in his way, humiliated him, for the best of him. He would either put them back in their place or die trying. With another round of shots, time would reveal the latter, and his flames were doused.

Glancing up at Sadie, your friend looked like she was struggling to steer and shoot at the same time. The horses were galloping fast out of fear, causing the cart to sway erratically back and forth along the trail. The weight would occasionally tip to one side, lifting the wheels slightly off the ground.

"Help me up, I'll steer!" You yelled to Sadie, reaching your hand out to her. It was a risk, sure, but the chances of the cart toppling down the hill seemed to be much higher than that of getting shot. 

Sadie flicked her eyes to you, then to the pursuer, then back to you. When the moment felt right, she reached her hand down to you, her fingers intertwining with yours. Gritting her teeth, she gave a great heave and pulled your arm up towards her, using all the strength she could muster. You moved with her and brought your other arm up around the side of the wagon, using it to help pull you up. Straining your muscles, you managed to bring your leg up over and pull yourself up to the driver seat, hearing another bullet whiz past you.

As you took hold of the reins, bringing the horses to a sharp turn over some train tracks, Sadie turned around to finish off the attacker. "Die, you dirty son of a bitch!" She yelled. With your eyes kept on the road, you heard a barrage of shots go off, follow by a grunt and the sound of a body hitting the ground behind you. With the O'Driscolls finished off, you steadied your breathing and let the horse's gallop return to a trot.

Sadie wiped her brow, her chest rising and falling quickly, pumping air into her lungs. She turned back to face the road and sat herself back down without speaking, her breathing moving too fast to allow for words. When she had control of herself again, the first thing to come from her lips was a chuckle, escaping through her wide smile. "Damn... that was fun," she managed through breaths. "Fun? You're starting to sound like Sean," you replied, still rattled from the scene. Sadie waved you off jokingly. 

"And what were you thinking?" You went on, your mind now reviewing the series of events that just occurred, trying to process it all. "That wasn't a part of the plan, you could have been killed!" There was some anger to your voice. Not that you wanted it to be there, you didn't want to risk upsetting your friend. You just felt a passion. A passion for wanting to keep your friend safe.

"We could be killed any day," she answered, "I told ya I wanted ta' give 'em what they deserved." You sighed. "I know, but you need to be more careful! If one of those guys looked back and saw you pointing that gun at that man's head, you'd have three bullets in your chest in seconds." Sadie looked over to you with a contemplative and remorseful expression, her hands folded together. "I'm already worried as it is about Arthur. Just... please don't scare me like that again." Sadie paused and then nodded. "I understand."

A few seconds passed before either of you spoke again, allowing the appropriate time for a shift in mood. "You know what I think?" Sadie asked, staring out in front, watching the shires leading the wagon. "What?" Your friend looked back to you to meet your eye. "I think we could use a drink after a job well done."

You let out a laugh. "Ha! Now you're really starting to sound like Sean!" Now that you thought about it, the two of them had a lot more in common than may meet the eye. "I'm serious!" She laughed along, giving a light punch to your leg. "That saloon there in Rhodes, we can head there! Heard their shine ain't bad," she giggled knowingly.

"Hnnn, I don't know," you responded, giving your friend a hard time. It was funny to see her try so hard to convince you. Little bits of teasing like that just felt so easy, so natural, as if you'd known each other for years and years. "Oh come on, just one drink," she pleaded, bringing her punching hand up and resting it on your upper leg. The contact brought an odd sense of ease along with a fun, fluttery feeling in your chest. You smiled. "Alright, just one drink."

******

The Rhodes Parlor House was quite a change of pace from Valentine. As soon as they walk in, patrons are quickly greeted by lively piano song wafting between white cloth-covered tables, complete with intricately patterned rugs and colorful glass art framing the bar. Well-off men in sleek, button down coats sat at the candlelit tables, nursing the drinks of their choice. Or perhaps they chose to make themselves at home about the upper floor, enjoying a game of poker by the fireplace. The building was clean and well kept, no post-fight blood on the walls or broken bottles littering the floor. To someone who may not know better, they could easily assume this to be an establishment of higher society. 

One downside of the high-end parlor became obvious as you and Sadie stepped through the front doors. Two women entering together, dressed in the typical clothes of men, holsters showing and skin still marked with dried blood were clearly not a common sight for this place. The men around would turn their heads and stare as you both made your way to the bar. Not that it mattered to you much. Their judgement was of little importance to you.

You and Sadie each took a seat by each other at the counter and ordered your drinks. Sadie ordered herself a scotch while you asked the bartender for a Kentucky Bourbon. When the drinks were made and safe in your hands, your friend turned to you.

"Why don't we do this type a' thing more often?" She inquired, looking down at her hand as she whipped her scotch around in the glass before bringing it up to her mouth. "What, kill some men and wash it all away with liquor?" You replied jokingly, smirking as you sipped your drink. There was a satisfying burning, tingly sensation that preceded a sweet flavor as the beverage swept over your tongue. 

"No, silly, I just meant goin' out, doin' jobs, gettin' a little messy!" she gave a good natured eye roll, giggling. "I had a good time today," she finished, more softly. The way her coarse voice sounded so light and smooth as she spoke made the tingling spread from your mouth throughout your body, condensing at your chest. "Yeah, me too," you smiled. "Maybe next time we can grab someone else to come along as well. That way we got more backup."

Sadie's face fell just ever so slightly. "I was actually thinkin'... just more 'a the two of us," she said gingerly. "I thought we made a pretty good team." The tingles were getting stronger, dancing along your chest to make it feel like your heart was glowing. You could feel the stupid grin on your face, not entirely sure of why it was that you felt that way, only that you liked it. "I think we did too," you smiled back to her.

It didn't take long for the two of you to finish your drinks. As it often was for many, what was supposed to be just one drink turned into two, then three, then one too many. The sight of an empty glass just made you thirsty for more, and Sadie was no different. By the time you were half way through your third, your voice was dragging and your emotions felt like the very substance you were drinking, splashing around in your head every which way. Thankfully, the walls were yet to start moving, and your limbs didn't feel too sluggardly, but you could even tell yourself that your mind wasn't working quite right. 

It wasn't often that you used the bottle to pass time away, so it was no surprise that you were submitting to drunkenness. Your friend was starting to show signs of insobriety as well, an obvious shift showing in her as she went from mellow to an almost complete lack of inhibition. 

"Have I ever told you how lucky I am to have you around?" She slurred slightly, putting her arm around your shoulder, forcing you to lean towards her. You awkwardly rested against your friend, elbows resting on the counter, content. "No, I'm lucky to have you around," you insisted. "Nobody's ever gotten me like you have." Sadie gave a squeeze to your shoulder before slowly sitting herself back up in her seat. "To that, I concur," she smiled, clinking her glass with yours before you each took another drink. 

As you swallowed, you turned your head to look back towards the door and were surprised to find that night had already fallen upon you. Through the green curtain-enclosed windows, the town outside was hidden behind the darkness of night. "This's been great, ya know," you said to Sadie, "but I think it'd be best if we thought about heading back." Sadie nodded slowly, sort of solemnly, and downed the last of her drink before standing up. The two of you made your way to the door and stepped out into the cool night time air. 

Out on the parlor's porch, you walked towards the hitching posts were the horses were tied up, the stolen wagon already dropped off at camp. Just as you were about to loosen your horse's reins from the post, Sadie stopped you. "Wait," she said, "my head don't feel well enough ta' get on a horse. Can we just rest a bit, til' this scotch's wears off a bit?"

"Of course," you replied, looking around for a place to sit. There were a couple of wooden crates sitting outside the parlor next to one of the windows. You went to go sit down on them and Sadie followed.

As you sat there with your friend at your side, you leaned yourself up against the wall, feeling the subtle ache in your muscles. The piano playing could be heard through the building's thin walls, still just as spirited as when you first arrived. 

You looked over to your friend. She was hunched and quiet, staring down at her boots. There was still some blood smeared along her face and shirt collar. Could she possibly be regretting her actions today? Or perhaps the events had left her unsatisfied, leaving her with that same thirst that just left her longing for more. There was something else to her as well, something that seemed familiar yet unknown. A sense of longing for what couldn't be named. She was sad, and you found yourself wanting to help.

As the music continued to play through the walls, you found yourself tapping your foot along to the melody. Suddenly, an idea came to you.

"Do you wanna dance?" Your words hung in the air for a second, sounding unusual to your own ear. Still, even when faced with your friend's quietness, you didn't want to take them back.

"I-I'm not much of a dancer," she answered, rubbing the back of her neck, a pink color growing on her face that was visible through the darkness. She had a wide, sheepish grin. "Oh, come on," you said as you lightly pushed her shoulder with yours, "just one dance."

You stood up and turned to face Sadie, reaching your hand down to her. She looked you in the eye before looking down at the hand, taking it slowly as she rose to join you. When she came up, she stood no more than a couple feet from you, causing your face to turn the same pink as your dance partner.

With you now both standing, you began to move your hips slowly from side to side, moving your arms as you swayed. Sadie was more tentative, mirroring you in a more watered-down fashion, still looking down as she moved.

"It's fine, the street's empty anyways," you told her, starting to speed up your dancing as you got in to the music. You now started coordinating a back step into your dance, moving your shoulders forward and backward as you let the liquor carry you through your movements. "Is this better?" your friend laughed quietly, getting more confident as she put more into her motions, getting in sync with the piano playing. "Yeah! There you go!" You gave your friend an encouraging smile, happy to also get one in return. 

As you danced, you noticed the space between you and Sadie start to decrease. Feeling it to be the next natural step, you reached out for her hand, lacing your fingers together. When she didn't resist, you put your other hand on her shoulder, and noticed your dance partner's arm wrap around your back.

The music picked up, becoming more quick and vibrant. You and Sadie moved together to the beat, turning together in circles as you rocked in the direction of your interlaced hands. Her hand was calloused and rough against yours, but it was still gentle. 

Getting ambitious, you took your friend into a spin, guiding her hand as she turned. As she moved, you found yourself admiring her contours, how the spin showed off every beautiful side of her figure. Was this what you were imagining that night with Charles? Was this the place your mind had been craving?

The music started to mellow out as Sadie came out of the spin, ending up even closer in your arms than she was before. Her gorgeous face couldn't have been more than a foot from yours, every detail more defined than you'd ever seen. The hard contours of her face were painted with natural blush. Small spots of dried blood blended in amongst her freckles. Her lips were full and soft-looking, as red as her cheeks. Though no words came from them, they seemed to be speaking to you, calling you towards them. One more glass of bourbon and you might have answered the call.

You both continued to stare at each other, smiling, watching as the other's face began to fall to gloom. You could almost see a flash go over Sadie's eyes, the joy of them being struck down by something you couldn't see. She curled her lips inward, looking to her side as she stepped back, removing her hand from yours. Your clutch now felt cold and empty without her hand there, nothing there to keep it warm and protected. Did I mess up? you started to wonder, dreading the answer to be "yes". God damn it, I messed up. God, why did I have to be such a damn fool? You should have just sat there on that crate and waited. The liquor was wearing off and the regret was coming in quick.

Sadie stood away from you, not meeting your eye as she rested her hands on her hips. She bit her lip before speaking, her voice hushed and grumbly. "We should... probably get back now." You just nodded, blinking fast to push away the hot watery feeling in your eyes. You unhitched then horses and saddled up, no words being spoken.

The ride back to camp was wordless, allowing the sound of hooves against the dirt and the steady chirp of crickets to occupy your ears. I hate this. I should have just drank that one glass and left. Now Arthur's gone and Sadie's upset. What in the Hell am I going to do?

Your journey came to and end as you rode through the trees at Clemens Point. As you made your way over to where the horses were hitched up, you were met with sight that surprised you. A familiar horse was standing unhitched in the middle of the area, letting out a shrill whiny as it bucked it head about. As you got closer, you noticed a man in red clothing laying on the ground, coughing and breathing deeply, his face covered in a long brown beard.

"It's Arthur!"

*** End of Part 6 ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I know a lot of you have been waiting in anticipation for the next chapter and I’m really sorry it took so long. With school and everything, chapters are taking a bit longer so just stick with me(please, haha). Please let me know what you think and leave a comment, I love talking with you guys about this story. As always, don’t forget to yee your best haw!- Addie :)
> 
> Little update, as of 10/11/2020, chapter 7 has not been posted yet, and y’all are probably wondering if I stopped writing. Please DON’T WORRY! I’ve been writing! It’s just taking a while with school. The chapter will likely be out within a week, again, sorry for the delay, and thank you so much for sticking with me :)- Addie


	7. Family Ties, Through Blood and Brotherhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few weeks have passed since the events at the saloon, and life seems to be getting back to a more pleasant normal. Until it doesn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s finally here!!!!! Guys, I am so sorry about the wait. I hope none of you worried that I abandoned the project because I don’t plan on that in the slightest. I love writing this and interacting with you guys, school and sports have just been getting in the way. The posting schedule may have to make a permanent change- you may need to expect a 2 month wait between chapter now. I’ll try to shorten that up a bit, but I’m not gonna rush a chapter. With that all said, I hope you enjoy! Definitely a more intense, plot-centered chapter, less focused on romance but still including some important moments. I told y’all it was a slow burn haha! Don’t worry though, there’s some good payoff coming in the next chapter or so ;) I hope you love it and please let me know what you think in the comments!!

It was an unusual morning. Unusual in a good way. The harsh Lemoyne sun had taken a rest for the day, humbly offering its light without taking your misery as payment.

Songbirds sang as they flew overhead, darting out of the trees in search of grasses to build their nests. Little white flowers dotted the meadows lining the path, presenting their tiny petals for all to see. The taste of huckleberry still rested upon your tongue, tart with a dash of sweetness. Even with all the confusion that had been plaguing you the past weeks, contentment was yours. At least for the time being.

It was less of an issue when you were around her, as ironic as it was. Your mind was too occupied with how happy it felt to worry about the connotations. When alone, though, was when the thoughts started to fly. Questions that couldn't be answered, emotions you wished you could simply cast aside. You tried to resist them, but your efforts proved to be in vain. These feelings were just like that liquor with its sweet yet burning flavor that kept drawing you back in for more. Each swig brought with it more shame, but to go long without the taste was more agonizing than the guilt until the bottle reached your lips.

As your horse trotted down the road, your bag bounced against your side, good and full of wild berries and herbs you'd found along the river. Well, not entirely full. The plants needed a little taste test to make sure they weren't poisonous. At least that's the excuse you used.

"You think we got enough?" She called to you from behind. You wanted to glance back to see her face, even if just for a moment. You then decided it best not to indulge.

"Yeah, this should be more than enough," you answered her, looking down at the saddle horn. "That is, as long as you actually picked what I showed you. For all I know, you could have a whole bag of sage ready to kill us all," you added, unable to hold back putting in at least one small quip. "Ha! Pearson's food don't need any help with that! I betcha that slop could kill ya all on its own!" Sadie had caught up, now riding beside you. You allowed yourself to look up at her, adoring the way her dimples poked out as she laughed at her own joke. After all, it would be rude not to look. Right?

You gave a little giggle along with her. "Well, I'm glad we went out and got all this for him. Maybe it'll spice up his cooking's flavor a bit." "Yeah, maybe," Sadie replied. "Ya know, I rather enjoyed doin' this today," your friend noted, a hand wrapped lightly around her chin. Her index finger rested upon her bottom lip, her mouth slightly ajar. "Wow, I'm surprised," you replied with a smirk. "I must say, I'm not used to seeing your guns just sitting there in their holsters."

"Oh, shut it you," Sadie playfully swatted her hand over, but was of course too far to reach. "I just mean it was nice ta' do somethin' different. Somethin' more... relaxin'. Glad we stayed sober this time..." her voiced faded off, the latter sentence much quieter than the first. Heat crept up your back and over your shoulders, through your neck and up to your face. You looked away to the other side of the path, focusing on the farm fences, somewhat blurred as you road past. "Me too..." you mumbled. You could feel yourself thinking back to the weeks before, reaching for that liquor once again. Falling back into the memories. Feeling her arms held tight against you. The heat in your cheeks as her face stood mere inches from yours. Your heart gave a hard, fluttery pound.

You desperately searched for a change of subject, yet found yourself unable to draw your mind away from its preoccupations. Thankfully, Sadie was able to find one for you. "How's Arthur doin'?" She asked, an uneasy edge to her voice as she played with the material on her shirt cuff. "He's doing really well, actually." The past weeks had been almost as worrisome as the time he was gone. Finding Arthur that night was a fittingly bittersweet ending to a bittersweet night. He was somewhat unrecognizable to the your muddled, drunken vision- a beaten, tattered man with a gunshot to his shoulder, laying flat on his back, face pointed to the stars as he gazed from beyond. As you came in closer to him, the horribly bruised and sweat glistened face of your friend became visible, rising and falling in small spurts with the rhythm of his breathing. He was alive, but only just. "I was surprised, really. That he recovered as quickly as he did. He got lucky, I guess. Every day I woke up more expectant than I wish to admit that I'd find him already gone." Sadie nodded, looking unsure of what to say.

"It all worked out, though. You were right, that man is one tough fella," you continued, trying to combat your friend's unease. You noticed a small upward twitch of her lips. "I think he may even be out on a job right now." "What? Like berry pickin'?" Sadie laughed, an uneven grin of amusement upon her face. She always seemed to have some witty remark ready to share.

"No, he wouldn't be doing something nearly as taxing as that so soon," you giggled back. "He said something about heading into town but I'm not sure what. Probably something for Dutch." Sadie's grin fell quickly to a scowl, a small flare to her nostrils you'd come to notice whenever she got mad. "Of course. Probably tryin' to meet with tha' Lemoyne Raiders to get drinks. Maybe some Night Folk?" She grumbled, speaking towards the ground. "A parley," she spat as she shook her head.

You continued on the road, enjoying the honeyed scent of magnolia floating on the breeze. You soon reached the grove of trees making up the cover for camp, trotting down the path towards the clearing. As you moved through the forested area, sounds of faint voices could be heard from up ahead, their muffled noises maneuvering between the trees and through the branches to reach your ears. "Whad'ya suppose's goin' on in there?" Sadie asked. "I don't know," you replied. "I wouldn't be expecting festivities so early in the day." You squinted as you came out of the wooded area, your eyes readjusting to the light. It felt comfortably warm across your face, like the touch of a mother's hand to her child's cheek. You lead Katy into a trot, slowing the platinum-dappled steed to a halt as you neared the crest of the shallow hill where the hitching posts stood.

You and your friend dismounted, each readjusting your bags over your shoulders, trying not to flatten any of your gatherings. "Although," you continued, "I wouldn't be surprised if Sean already got something start-"

As you turned to look behind you, back towards camp, the cause of the loud voices became clear. A young man- more boy than man, really- with smears of blood tangled within his fiery hair, lay still on the ground. His head was tilted to the side in an unnatural manner, his grey jacket stained with more red. His eyelids were closed as if he were asleep right there at the front of camp.

It was Sean.

A small crowd stood around his body, the women weeping as the men stood silently, their faces pointed towards the ground. Before you could think about what you were doing, you felt your feet start to move, quickly, carrying you down the hill as fast as you could. You didn't know why. No speed could outpace that of death's. It appeared he'd already made his leave.

You crashed into Arthur upon reaching the crowd, grabbing him by the shoulders and nearly toppling him over. "ARTHUR! WHAT HAPPENED?" He readjusted his feet to stabilize himself, shock temporarily taking grief's place along his facial features. His expression fell once more as he saw yours- one longing to be wrong, longing to be told this wasn't real. He took his large, calloused hands and, uncharacteristically, gently wrapped them behind your upper arm, giving you balance. Your breathing was suddenly fast-paced and harsh, your head starting to feel light.

"We... we was set up," he mumbled. His voice was somehow more low and grave than usual. There was a pain within it that you hadn't heard for quite some time. You hadn't felt for quite some time, either. "It was the Grays. Ambushed us. Got him as he was turned away."

There was a mixed urge to look back at your friend, hoping to glance back and find his smile looking up at you, alive with not a care in the world. You were instead met with a face gone slack, no more goofy grins to ever be spread across it. There was a hole in the side of his head, the flesh marred up and torn away. It was surreal, in a sense, to see the man who had always been so full of life lying dead on the ground.

"It was quick," Arthur gave what little comfort he could. "He was gone before he could tell what'd happened." You turned back to face your older friend, feeling your eyes widen as tears filled up within them. You blinked to set them free. He was gone before he could tell what had happened. There was no pain, no fear, no feeling of any kind. One second he was there, and the next, he wasn't. He was just like the deer, you thought. He never even knew he had died.

This poor, young man, with his whole life ahead of him, was gone. This boy, with enough time left to find his way to something better, to do something he could look back on at his old age and be proud of, was gone. There was so much more for him to do. So much more. He hadn't even had learned how to read yet.

Your chest was rising and falling with greater amplitude, a spasming feeling growing. All this time you'd tried to be there for him, be that older sibling. Older siblings were supposed to protect the younger, guide them and teach them and keep them out of trouble. Your back had been turned for just a day and it all slipped out beneath you.

With your eyes squeezed shut tightly, you felt two strong arms wrap around you, pulling you in for a short yet sincere embrace. You blinked your tears away into Arthur's shirt, letting them soak his sleeve until you were ready to pull away.

As the teary blur to your eyes subsided, you found that Sadie had joined the small crowd, standing next to red faced and bawling Karen. You watched Sadie's beautiful gaze move from Sean to you. There was an immense ache in her eyes, though it held a different tone than your own. A different kind of sadness. An empathy so great that it felt real.

It took a few seconds to realize that the cries weren't just coming from the front area of camp. You'd been so fixated on your ill-fated friend that you hadn't noticed the truest source of the shouts- Abigail.

"WHERE'S MY GODDAMN SON?! Where is he? Where's my son?" Abigail's shouts came from all the way back by Dutch's tent, still clutching tightly to the desperation tangled within her voice. The woman's mouth appeared as if it could breathe fire as she demanded an answer from Dutch, somehow managing to loom over the taller man. "They took him, didn't they? They took my son!" Now Jack too? What in God's name is happening?

"Who took him?" Dutch asked, trying to maintain a sense of calm in the wild mess of the moment. Seemingly same as any other time the Van der Linde leader had anything to say, Arthur was inclined to move in his direction, ready for action at his beck and call. You found yourself following behind him, not wanting to be in the middle of two disasters at once. It was either the dead boy or the lost boy. It was easier to focus on the latter.

Before walking away, you forced yourself to give one final glance back to your fallen friend. It was your own way of saying goodbye before his fiery spirit would be returned to the earth. At this point, it was the best you were going to get.

******

"We think... the Braithwaite woman took him!" Hosea stumbled into the commotion, breathing hard like he had hopped off his horse while still on the run to relay the information. Abigail let out a shaking cry, one that said her greatest fears had just been confirmed. "That Kieran saw a couple fellers... sound like Braithwaite boys," the old man panted.

"Where's my son? If anything... I-," She paused, not able to even consider the possibilities. She took a quick breath, looking up to hold back her tears. "Where is my son, Dutch van der Linde?" Just like that, it was as if a lever was pulled within Dutch, switching something on. His eyes were filled with a stronger determination than you could ever recall. "We will find him, we will bring him back to you..." he bellowed, "and we will kill any fool to have the temerity to touch one hair on that boy's head. Abigail, you have my word."

As Dutch went through his speech, John appeared at Hosea's side. Whether he'd known the meaning of the circumstances or was merely drawn in by the commotion was unclear. He held a blank, unreadable expression, a perfect mask to anything that may be bubbling beneath the surface. Abigail greeted John with a glare so fierce that you were surprised he didn't turn to stone. She gave a small huff of fury before looking back to Dutch. "Just get me back my son."

She spoke like someone had cut a slit through her throat, pain and desperation in her voice that only a mother could fully understand. To lose a child, to live with that uncertainty of their kid ever coming home again, was something only the most unfortunate got to experience. You found yourself reflecting upon it, wondering. Wondering if your own mother had felt that way, wondering if she still felt that way. Perhaps she went each day hoping to see you walk through the door. Perhaps she'd decided it best to lay her hopes to rest. For all you knew, she wasn't even alive.

Not wishing to spend a second longer on talk, Dutch was the first to spring into action. "I will get that boy back, so help me God," he declared, marching his long strides across camp to the horses. You and the boys naturally followed his lead, caught up in the Hell-bent aura that never failed to shroud the gang leader.

As you made your way for the stables, you found more of the boys coming your way, with Bill at the front of the pack. "Dutch! We just heard about Jack," he called. "You need some extra guns?" Behind him, Charles, Lenny, and Javier stood, weapons across their back and an unfaltering energy about them. "Yeah, why not?" Dutch said, barely giving Bill more than a sideways glance. Between your group and their's, Micah rested at one of the tables, adjusting his jacket with no indication of bother.

You felt a tug at your shirt, turning to find Sadie grabbing at your sleeve with a sense of urgency. As you eyed her hand upon your arm, she quickly took it away before getting her words out. "What in the Hell is goin' on? Is there somethin' else now?" You found yourself fumbling for words, struggling to string them together. Your vision seemed scrambled and unsteady from the chaos, another reminder of the events of a few weeks' past. "Jack... he was taken," you managed to sputter out, your mind not in the right place to be disclosing information. It was hard enough just to process it all.

"Abigail's boy?" Sadie questioned. "Who took him? Why'd they take him?" "I-I don't know," you answered her, putting a hand to your forehead. A headache was welling up. "Hosea said it was the Braithwaites, one of those rich families we were double-crossing. Maybe that's got something to do with it?" Sadie let out a grumble. "They're the ones who'd done that 'shinin' with the Lemoyne Raiders," she recalled. "Those inbred sons of bitches."

You noticed a slight twitch to her hand as she brought it down her side, resting it upon the top of her gun handle. She looked from her side back up to you, her head still tilted down so that her eyes were just barely visible beneath the brim of her hat. "Well...?" She asked, her normally rough, uneven voice now calm and controlled. "Well, what?" You asked.

"Are we just gonna let the boys have all the fun?" The morning tranquility had come to an official end. Your friend had had enough sunshine, enough action-less days. She needed her blood pumping. She needed to feel something. Revenge needed to be taken, even if it wasn't her own revenge to enact.

"Errrrrhhhhh," you gave out a stressed growl, pressing your fingertips down upon your closed eyes. The headache was getting worse, the shouts getting to be too much. You just wanted it to stop. Wanted some way to make it end. Too many different feelings and thoughts were welling inside. There was a rage building with a need for release. Perhaps that was the answer- to release that rage upon the deserving. Nothing else was presenting itself as an option, after all. "Alright, I'm in."

Without giving you so much as a split second to reconsider, Sadie quickly turned and headed for the hitching posts where the men were quickly climbing up onto their saddles. Dutch was swinging his leg over his steed's back; the horse was a beautiful white animal, muscular yet lean, the prime build for speed. "Micah, Kieran, anyone strange turns up, you kill 'em!" The man shouted. "Rest a' you, ride with- what in the Hell do you think you're doin'?" As you reached for your own saddle, you could feel Dutch's words hitting you in the back, sending a wave of panic down your spine. You turned to face him.

"I'm helping rescue Jack, same as everyone else," you told him, trying to defend yourself, "Is there a problem with that?" You straightened up to stand a little taller, attempting to convey confidence. It must not have been convincing enough for Dutch. He continued to stare back at you, brows furrowed while his horse lightly battered its hooves into the dirt, itching to move. "Absolutely not. You need to stay here, where it's safe!" Dutch replied.

"Ha! You must be jokin', right?" Sadie had already mounted up, her repeater resting in the saddle holster. "She's gotta be one a' the best shots you got! I'd take her over Bill any day!" "Hey!" Bill exclaimed. "Mrs.Adler?" Dutch looked shocked. It was as if he had only just now noticed her outward transformation from a poor widow whose ankles were hidden by the layers of her dress to a true gun woman with smoke pouring out her ears.

The gang leader turned to Arthur who gave just a small chuckle. "I can confirm," he answered the silent question, "for both a' them. Seen it with my own eyes. I wouldn't wanna be either a' 'em's enemy." Dutch turned back to face you both, met with two sly smirks. He gave a small sigh, only visible from the rise of his chest, his face remaining still. "Fine. But you must follow each and every order I give you. Now come on! We ain't got time for all a' this- let's ride!" He snapped his reins down hard, his steed carrying him off in a blizzard of swiftness as he took the lead of the pack. Quickly scrambling on to Katy, you kicked at her sides with an urgency, riding down the trail to catch up.

******

A thick wave of fog had rolled over the meadows. The day had nearly turned to night, the moon replacing the sun with its beams shining through the hazy mist, illuminating the individual drops of water in the air. The trees lining the paths of the Braithwaite Manor kept your group hidden in the shadows, protecting from the probing eye of moonlight. There wasn't going to be a much better time than this.

The horses rode in an almost organized formation, Dutch riding head as the rest formed rows of two behind him. The women, of course, formed the last row of two, with Arthur just further behind them as the lone man in the last wall of defense. As your horse's hooves hit the hard earth beneath, each gallop brought on a fresh shock of suspense. Were you truly ready for this? Or was the vail of vexation starting to fall, revealing more clearly a path that may have been best for you not to have taken?

The front arch of the enormous mansion came more clearly into sight as the horses came to a slow outside. "Alright everyone, dismount and come to me," Dutch called from the front. "We'll go in on foot from here." It felt odd for him to call out your presence so carelessly strident this close to where the adversaries likely had their heads to their pillows. That is until realizing the vast size of the inner garden and distance of the path still left to be journeyed before reaching the manor itself. Nobody was going to hear you from this far away.

As promised, you followed along with Dutch's order. You hopped off your horse to the ground, bending your knees extra to cushion the drop and eliminate any possible noise. Sure, the house was far, but you were not about to risk being the one to ruin this endeavor, especially with how adamant you were on coming along in the first place. 

You turned to Katy, the horse calmly standing to your side as if awaiting an order. You held out a carrot from your bag, extending your hand to her mouth. As she took it from you between her teeth, you moved your hand to her neck to pet her metallic-colored mane. "Good girl, good girl. Alright, I need you to go someplace safe. And stay there this time," you gave a small laugh as you told her away, letting the laughter wash away some of the nerves. All things considered, the scene was strangely tranquil. You were sure, though, that the feeling wouldn't last.

You went to regroup with the others, feeling somewhat out of place amongst the tall, bearded men. Even Lenny had some noticeable stubble along his chin. "First Sean, now Jack," he sighed. "We should've stayed out of all this." You're telling me, you thought. If only you'd all realized that a little sooner. "'Bit late for that," Bill called out, echoing your thoughts. Hosea shifted his stance uneasily, looking down at the rust-tinted dirt.

"Quiet. We're going to fix this- right now," Dutch put an end to the talk. Everyone else went quiet. He started moving towards the front arches, slowly and carefully. He looked back as he heard John on his way to march right on past him, firmly gripping his shotgun in both hands. Before the younger man could round the corner, the older one put up a rigid hand to his chest. "John, you sure you're okay?" "Like I said, I'm fine." John's voice was cold, hard stone, chilling and unyielding to compromise. The emotion he'd been masking earlier was leaking out and the true rage of a father in search of his son was revealing itself. Dutch nodded.

"Follow my lead."

The men funneled through the entrance, dogs racing for the first bite of food. They quickly fell into a line, a V-formation that spanned the full width of the path; no man walked in front of another. Each of them was his own person, free to walk the path without obstacle in their way. You and Sadie marched behind the formation, treading through their shadows at you made for the house.

The sound of ten pairs of boots pushing through the gravel path took the place of chirping insects throughout the cool night air. The steps began to fall in sync with one another, a single heartbeat set on a single mission. The pulse of the sound began to pump through your ears, amplifying your own. You felt your heartbeat against the sides of your skull. This is crazy, I shouldn't have done this. I should have stayed back at the camp where I would have been safe. The thoughts were rushing back in. Who even knows how many there are? This could be it. This could be the last night of my life. The thoughts paused.

This could be it.

It's not that you'd never thought about the inevitability of death in the past, but to compare that to when it was staring you in the face was something of a completely different nature. Before, it had simply been imagining, pondering. Reflecting on the deaths of others- their lives, their wrongdoings, their accomplishments, and their unfinished business. None of it could have prepared for the beast that stood before you.

If this was the end, what would you want to be remembered by? What would you want for others once you were gone? If this were the end, what would you regret not doing even though you could have?

You slowly shifted your gaze away from the path and found a perfect resting place to your side. There she marched; this beautiful, powerful, vehement, amazing woman, thin strands of golden hair lit up by the shroud of moonlight falling delicately over her face. Her jaw was cut from marvel, her irises dark brindle pools you found yourself willing to drown in. To deny it any longer would be pointless, a fool's effort. It would be a betrayal to your own being, to continue this fruitless inner battle up until the bitter end. She was perfect. And you were in love with her.

All too soon, you were pulled away from your trance, forced to let this newfound, earth-shattering realization dangle in your mind by its feet, unsure if someone would come to save it or let it fall deeper into the depths of denial. "Get down here now!" Dutch roared at the house, thrusting his pistol up in emphasis, his voice snapping at your eardrums. "You inbred trash!"

"What the Hell do you want?" One of Catherine Braithwaite's sons sauntered out the door, his face eclipsed by the night. It was probably a misshapen, untrimmed mess, knowing the people you were dealing with. Off to the side, you noticed Hosea move next to John, lowering the man's aim to the ground while Dutch stepped forward to plead your case. "We've come for the boy. You must've known we would-" "Shouldn't've messed with our business, now should you?" the Braithwaite cut him off.

You knew it wouldn't be long until Hell broke loose, but your body was already ahead, impatient. Adrenaline was coursing, sending quivers up and down your limbs. So many thoughts were already fighting each other for dominance in your mind, that everything was starting to go blank. Nothing was real or clear at this point.

Dutch took a loud, deep breath. "Whatever complaint you have with us, alleged... or otherwise... That is a young boy. That is not the way you do things." As he spoke, your eyes caught more movement; more men were creeping out of the manor from all places- the balcony, the porch, the sides of the house, stalking out of the shadows. Dutch, though, stood strong, unwavering in the face of growing danger. He'd lived through many scenes just like this one and he wouldn't let this be any different. "Hand him over."

"Get the Hell off our land!" More and more kept pouring out, their numbers growing so high that they no longer seemed to care about secrecy. Dutch just stood, letting their total swell before his eyes. Better to get a full view of their numbers- better to assess the enemy. Sweat was already dripping from your hairline, tracing the side of your face as it fell to soak your collar line. It couldn't be much longer now.

"If you ain't gonna be civilized about this..." he finally said, his calm and calculated voice trailing off. He never finished. He let his revolvers complete the sentence.

In an instant, the world was fiery chaos. Men on both sides shot the other with passionate intensity, filling your senses with loud blasts and flashes of orange light from every angle. Thinking as fast as your tangled mind could, you dove.

Your dive brought you quickly behind a small cart full of hay bales, the best coverage within an achievable range. You pushed yourself up by the heels of your hands, your bare fingers digging into the earth beneath them. Flipping over, you turned yourself to sit with your back to the cart, trying hard to even your breathing. Now is not the time to panic, you can't panic, you can't panic, get a hold of yourself!

Then, of course, Sadie appeared at your side. She had ducked for cover as well, holding her hand against one of the bales to support herself as the sound of bullets flew off the cart. She was incredibly close to you, something that should have been the least of your concerns while in the midst of a bullet shower.

Should I tell her? The first big question had finally been answered, now here was the second one. You could reach out, right then and there, kiss those beautiful, copious lips and leave nothing left to regret in a life full of uncertainty. After all, the chances that you'd make it past the night to deal with any possible consequences were slim. But... maybe it was best not to. Maybe this was one of those things you take to the grave, don't let any lasting memory of yourself carry this kind of taint along with it. Perhaps it was best for Sadie to just lose a friend, the line between that and something more remaining unblurred.

She looked at you, her dark eyes piercing down into the crevices of your soul. "You ready'a take 'em?" You bit your lower lip, staring, letting instinct for once decide this outcome. When the answer came, it was in the medium of words. "Let's get these bastards."

You flipped yourself over and leaned around the cart's side, aiming for a target poking out from behind one of the manor's marble columns. Before you could take your shot, the corner of your eye detected an opposing aim. As fast as you could, you whipped yourself back behind cover, sucking in your breath to keep yourself still. The sound of lead striking wood rang painfully in your ears. When the clatter of shots had stopped, you took your chance and veered out once more, taking down your attacker.

More rounds went by, Braithwaite men crashing back through the house's windows or falling off the balcony. All the while, Sadie's battle cries somehow seemed just as loud as the gunfire. "Take that, you sick bastards!" After a short while, the fighting started to slow.

"Bill, Javier, cover left! Arthur, John, Hosea, and you ladies, with me!" Dutch shouted his command above the noise, taking this as a moment to advance. "You wanted to come along, so now you get to see what it's all about." Dutch's last statement made you pause. What the Hell does he mean? With the Braithwaites dwindling and the web of blasts thinning out, you and Sadie took your chance and ran. You covered your head as you went, arriving at the porch somehow unscathed, but there wasn't time to rest. Stepping over a body, Dutch brought his boot down hard against the door, slamming it open, some of the glass shattering from the impact. "Get in there! Find Jack! And find that Braithwaite woman!" His voice cracked with effort.

Your group rushed in, guns held high and at the ready. Spreading through the dimly lit house, your gang moved strongly and cautiously. It was different, being indoors. There was no telling what may lurk beyond the protection of a wall or door, no open space for surveying your opponents before attacking. It was like traversing a dense forest at night, stalking your prey all while hoping the prey doesn't end up being your own predator.

"Jack! Jack, where are you?" You yelled out, your words echoing through the halls. The sound of footsteps thundering up the stairs as the gang rushed to the second floor helped to cover up the heartbeat pressing into your eardrums. "You, ladies! Search downstairs! You find that woman, you bring her to me!" Dutch called from the next floor up.

You moved on the balls of your feet, carefully and slowly shifting your weight from one foot to the next. Your revolver was held out in front of your body, your eyes twitching around every corner. So far, it was clear. You came to a door, cut from dark wood and carved with various subtle yet detailed designs. "Jack, are you in there?" You heard a small bustle inside, but no voices answered. "Jack?" Reaching for the crystalline glass doorknob, you strained your muscles to twist it but it wouldn't budge. Calling forth your inner-Dutch, you brought your leg up, trying to retain your balance, right before bringing it down on the door as hard as you could and bashing it open.

Before stepping in, you looked about the room from the tip of your gun. There were old books scattered about the floor, an overturned plush sofa, but nobody was there. You stepped in to get a better view, yet still, nobody. What in the-

Before you could tell what was happening, burly arms had seized you by the torso and thrown you to the ground. Letting out a scream of surprise, you kicked and scrambled, trying to escape from your attacker's grasp. Managing to get an arm free, you pushed against his face as hard as you could. His neck muscles strained and he grit his teeth, but he still didn't give in. Not ready to give up the fight, you decided to flip yourself over so you could push away from him with your legs. When you'd finally managed to spin over, though, you were mere seconds from falling victim to the knife now held at your throat.

"Welllll, what are we gonna do with you?" An older man with graying hair running down his face into a shaggy beard loomed over you, his crooked, yellow teeth flashing in a sinister grin. "I was just about'a kill you, but maybe I oughta reconsider..." He slowly pressed the knife further against your neck, causing you to pull your head back even further. You could feel the sting of the blade laying into the delicate skin of your neck, wondering if blood was beginning to crawl out from your flesh. This felt too familiar, the main difference being that this time the man was sober-at least by comparison- and moving your head in even the slightest manner had the potential to bring about a painful death. "Get... your filthy hands... off of me," you managed, taking shallow breaths to avoid sinking into the blade.

"Heh heh, I'm afraid I can't do that, miss- oh shi-" "GET AWAY FROM HER!" Sadie's screech rested in the air of the room long after she'd sunk her three bullets into the man's side. And then a fourth, just for good measure. You let your head drop back to the floor, sucking in the air your body had been craving. Without giving you much of a moment to gathering your bearings, Sadie was already at your side, moving her arms to your back to help you sit up. "Jesus, you alright? You bleedin'?" She then looked to your neck where a small stream of blood was trickling lightly from a shallow slit. She looked back at you. "You gonna be okay?" Her eyebrows angled up, showing a worry that you couldn't recall in her face since the night you'd first met. "Yeah," you panted, "I'll be fine."

With a nod, Sadie grabbed you by the wrists, pulling up to get you back on your feet. Her heave brought you up quicker than you anticipated, making you trip as you stood once more. Whatever muscle she'd lost in Ambarino, she must have had found a way to get it back.

Muffled gunshots and yells could be heard from the floor above. "Sounds like they need backup," Sadie noted. You each ran out of the room and up the stairs to where the noises were coming from, gripping the smooth rail as you rushed up the spiraling staircase. As you reached the next floor, you found Dutch and Hosea with their backs to a door, pressing themselves into it to keep whoever was pushing against it on the inside from escaping. "Where are the others?" You yelled to them. "They went that way," Hosea nodded his head towards the open balcony doors. "Went to go find another way in!" Without waiting for an order, you rushed outside into the cold to find your friends

As you ran outside, you couldn't help but peek over the edge to glimpse the extensive grounds below. What met your eye was something far less magnificent than you expected. Bodies covered the land like little flowers dotting a field, their petals the blood seeping from underneath their lifeless corpses. The sheer number was unfathomable, enough to match the number of most families' entire living roster, tripled. It reminded you of the Civil War battlefields that Mary-Beth described to you from her books. Sadie peered over the railing beside you. "Guess that explains the gunshots," she remarked. Something told you that tonight may mark the end of the Braithwaite bloodline.

You squinted and shook your head, trying to force the image of the courtyard to disappear from your mind. Attempting to ignore the unshakable feeling of disturbance, you continued to move around the balcony, finding John and Arthur struggling with a slender double door. Orange light shown on their faces through the light curtain that covered the door's small windows. "I can't see a goddamn thing!" John yelled, ramming his shoulder into them to no avail. "Stand back Marston-huh? What're you two doin' here, shouldn't you be inside with the others?" Arthur asked in surprise as he saw you. "We just heard you were struggling, figured you needed someone to show you how to twist a doorknob," you replied, surprisingly smug for somebody with bleeding from a slit in their neck. Arthur shook his head, and then paused when he noticed the blood beading down your throat. "You alright?" "I'm fine. Lucky, actually," you gave Sadie a sideways glance, catching the crooked smile she tried to hold back.

Arthur nodded, not wasting time. "We think Jack's in there. Only room that's locked. Gotta be where that lady is too," he informed. "Can we hurry up the tea party over here? Arthur come help me get this!" John yelled, sweat beading on his forehead as he continued to struggle with the door.

The older man turned to you, a more serious look in his eye. "Get those guns up, ladies. We don't know what's inside." You did as you were told, raising the revolver up to eyesight. Your clasp on the grip was becoming slippery with sweat. Arthur took his place next to John, lining his shoulder up with the middle of the door on the right as the younger man took the other. "One.. two... three!" The men grunted as they pushed against the doors with full force. The doors let in a small amount, their hinges creaking, yet still remaining closed... until bam! They flew open, letting Arthur and John stumble into the room. Before your friends had even made it through the threshold, you were able to glimpse over their shoulder to see two more men ducking for cover behind a well-positioned cabinet. "Arthur, John, look out!" They were ready for them, each of them sinking no more than one bullet into the head of their nearest enemy. Blood splattered all around in the air as their bodies fell to the floor.

Now it was Hosea's turn to break into the room with Dutch close behind, the ones that had been preventing their entry now lying dead at their feet. Wrath was written across the gang leader's face in a subtle way that somehow instilled more fear than full-blown rage. He spoke no words as he kicked in the bedroom door, the following scream from Catherine Braithwaite inducing no flinch.

He grabbed her by the wrist, ignoring the terrified cries coming from the elderly woman. Forcing her against the wall, he pulled out his pistol, the orange-red light of the lantern above reflecting off its silver barrel. "You want me to kill you too, old woman?" He growled, almost as if he was painfully suppressing his heaping fury. "You bastards!" Catherine spat, pulling herself away from the wall only for Hosea to push her right back. "Where's the boy?!" He demanded.

Miss Braithwaite tilted her head back in fear as if she were trying to sink through the wall for safety. Her face remained strong but the quiver of her chest betrayed the poise she attempted to exert. "We have lived in this house for one hundred and twenty years," her raspy southern voice declared, "We never had no problems 'cept for Yankees-" "Where is the boy?" Hosea cut her off, asking his question slower for her ancient, prejudiced, slipping mind to better comprehend. "Who took him?"

The woman took a deep breath, providing fuel for to fully express her agonized indignation. "YOU KILLED MY SONS!" Up to this moment, you'd never even entertained the idea of sympathizing with this person. It had never been something to even consider. And yet a flash of sorrow had struck you, from somewhere deeper than you'd liked to admit. All those bodies, all those dead men, they were hers. Her own flesh and blood. The babies she'd once proudly held in her arms now reduced to ground fodder. But they're all animals, you reminded yourself. Horrible, vile, irredeemable animals. So then why was there something whispering to you that this may be going too far?

"Oh, and I will surely kill the rest of them unless you start talkin'!" Dutch now dug the end of his gun into her neck. "Oh, I know your type!" She didn't seem to see any reason to give up her fight, though her voice was weaker as the metal bore down on her throat. "Common scum!" When Dutch didn't give a response, the hag's face shifted. She knew she had, somewhere, crossed a line. The leader brought his face within inches of hers, his words more snarls than true speaking. "Where. Is. The. Boy."

"You filth!"

Dutch stepped back. He'd had enough.

"Alright, we get her outta here," Dutch grabbed Catherine around the neck, dragging her out of the room as he shot another bullet into her son's lifeless body, eliciting another scream of horror. More screams followed as he dragged her towards the stairs, each one more painful than the last. The screams started to turn to sobs, the lights of her chandelier reflecting on the tears encasing her eyes. Each sob brought more of that grief, that gut-wrenching empathy, the tortured cries of a woman who had outlived everyone she loved. She reached for the rails on the staircase, her shrieks striking you further and further. As her hands slipped away, the howl that escaped her lips brought a fresh wet coating to your own eyes. It sounded so familiar. So raw. Enough to make you forget who she was, and only see the grieving mother desperately trying to get one last look at her son's departed face.

Javier and Bill had apparently been at work, small, fresh fires visible through the large stairwell window. "That's right! Burn this dumb to the ground!" Dutch commanded, earning repeating wails from the Braithwaite matriarch, begging them to stop. Her words stunted as the wind got knocked out of her chest each time she hit the next step that Dutch dragged her down.

"You all sure Jack ain't in here? Did you search all the downstairs rooms too?" The gang leader called up from where he now stood on the lower floor. "No sign a' him," Sadie's voice was careless, not a noticeable disturbance present. "Yeah, we searched everywhere, Dutch," Hosea added. If he isn't here then where the Hell could he be? Did we just do all of that for nothing?

You and the rest of the gang quickly made your way down the stairs, John and Hosea slipping past with bottles in one hand and lighters in the other. It didn't take long before the flames began to envelop the house, consuming the walls, the floors, the furniture, the books, and anything it could digest within its reach. One of the chairs appeared to be moving until you realized it was actually a man, a straggler leftover. You snapped out your gun to fight him off, but by the time you were ready, the man was already halfway to the floor, a blackened crisp coating his skin.

The smoke was thickening, the path to the doors not yet consumed by flames growing slimmer with each moment. You rushed out the door, careful to make sure Sadie had done the samee. So, you'd survived the night. Against seemingly all odds, there you stood outside the burning manor. And there the feelings were, brighter and more intense than the flames reflecting off your damp, stinging eyes. What were you supposed to do now? Just live with it? Let things fall how they may? Wait for it to just disappear? It wasn't clear. All you knew was that it was there. Somehow, someway, you'd have to find peace with it.

You looked back inside the house, watching the last two people to step foot inside the mansion. Dutch had let go of the lady, leaving her on her hands and knees as she crawled through towards the door. He was treating her like a sheep, herding her with the flames, knowing there was only one way for her to go. Yet, when she reached a certain spot, she stopped. Looking closer, you could see her clutching the body of the singed man on the ground, sobbing into his chest. With no patience for mercy, Dutch seized the woman off the ground and threw her over his shoulder, ignoring her cries to be put back where he found her.

With everyone out front, the gang leader dropped the hostage to the ground, bringing a brief moment where only the sound of panting and crackling wood could be heard. From where she laid down against the ground, through her deep, shaky breaths, the woman groaned. "I never liked you." "Why'd you take the boy, Mrs.Braithwaite?" Hosea demanded. Ever the gentleman.

"You stole my liquor!"

"Boys are off-limits!"

"You stole my horses! Ain't no rules in war, mister..."

"Matthews."

"Yes.. that's it," the woman coughed, looking like she barely had the energy left to tilt her head up and look Hosea in the eye. "Where's the boy," the question still remained. Seeing that she had very little left to lose, Catherine finally gave the answer.

"My sons gave him to Angelo Bronte. So my guess is Saint Denis!" She spat. "Either there, or on the boat to Italy!" She didn't care anymore. Her home taken over by fire, three different guns pointed at her skull, what was there left to worry about?

There it was, finally. All of that just to have to go hunt down somebody else. But you had got the answer, and Dutch was ready to head home. "Let's go," he said. "What we doin' with her?" Arthur asked, gesturing to the old woman. "Leave her," Dutch told him. "I told ya she was crazy!"

As everyone made their way back to the horses, away from the smoky haze, Dutch's shoulder grazed yours as he walked past. "Told ya I'd show you what it's all about," he whispered. You looked back to the house, back to the woman, just her silhouette visible against the burning backdrop. You were stuck, unable to look away as she began to crawl back toward the house. Fixed in a trance of horror, you watched as she made it through the threshold, the flames engulfing her silhouette, becoming one with the manor as her body turned to ashes.

****** End of Part 7 ******

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I will hopefully be updating this pretty regularly, so stay on the lookout! Any comments and likes are GREATLY appreciated! :)


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